


Daily Destiel Prompts

by perunamuusa, riseofthefallenone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, art included
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1783159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perunamuusa/pseuds/perunamuusa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseofthefallenone/pseuds/riseofthefallenone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of the prompts written by riseofthefallenone and pappcave on their blog <a href="http://promptsforjenandpapp.tumblr.com">Daily Destiel Prompts</a>.</p><p>Each "chapter" is a different prompt that we have answered over the course of the last week, and each one is their own contained story line. They are not a continuous plot. We will start posting them to here as well as tumblr when they are completed. Please see the tumblr posts regarding disruptions to our posting schedule.</p><p>
  <b>The notes at the beginning of each "chapter" is where we will put the appropriate tags and characters appearing in that specific story.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Characters:** Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Charlie Bradbury
> 
>  **Tags:** highschool!AU, fluff

Dean stands to the side of the concession counter trying for an air of indifference when really he’s nervously twisting his bracelet around his wrist. It took him  _weeks_  to work up the courage to ask Cas to go to the movies with him on an actual  _date_ instead of as friends and now – now he feels like he might hyperventilate himself into a coma if he doesn’t keep his cool.

He shouldn’t be this wound up. This is just another night out with Cas, but it holds the very real possibility of ending with a goodnight kiss and Dean hasn’t kissed Cas since they ten years old and hung blankets up around his bunk bed to make a fort so they could practice kissing in secret. Dean’s had lots of practice with other people since then and he knows he’s good but what he knows isn’t the same as Cas knowing. It’s getting to give Cas firsthand knowledge that’s giving him the nervous sweats.

Tonight has to go perfect if he’s going to get the chance and he  _really_ wants that chance. Which is why he’s even letting Cas pick the movie they’re going to go see. Cas sometimes has pretty weird tastes (Dean is never forgiving him for that Twilight incident) and there’s a whole bunch of movies playing today that he doesn’t want to even  _think_ about seeing.

Of course he’s more than willing to suffer through them for Cas and the chance of getting to kiss him again after nearly six years, but Dean didn’t want to take the chance with the latest Iron Man release. Which is why Dean was here at midnight last night for the premier. He’s been waiting months for it and he wasn’t going to risk Cas picking a different movie. And even if, by some stroke of luck, Cas  _does_ pick Iron Man – well, then Dean can pretend he didn’t see it. Not like Cas will ever know.

The problem? Dean is exhausted and there’s the very real chance that he might fall asleep in the middle of the movie and Cas will take that as some huge insult to his tastes. He didn’t get to sleep until after three in the morning and he had to be up before seven to make his and Sammy’s lunch for school that day. Speaking of Sammy, he had plans with Charlie tonight and Dean dropped him off at her place on his way here. Cas had declined a ride here, but he  _did_ accept a ride back – which makes Dean totally okay with meeting at the theater instead.

That said, Dean still isn’t expecting someone to slap him on the ass and shout in his ear. “Hey, bitch!”

 _Charlie_. He whips around to find her and Sam both with wide grins and arms full of popcorn and drinks. “What the  _hell_ are you two doing here?”

“Iron Man, duh.” She shrugs and grins at him. “You’re wound tighter than C3PO’s golden ass. You need to chill the hell out before Cas gets here.”

Sam nods in agreement and shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Cas is crazy about you too.”

“Not if you to idiots are here. Go get in line or something, but Cas can’t see you here.” Dean makes shooing motions at the both of them. If they don’t scram, they might mess up everything Dean’s got going tonight.

“I believe you’re too late for that, Dean.”

His heart just about jackhammers itself right out of his chest. A slap on the ass would have been preferable, to be honest. He turns around and has to force himself not to let his jaw drop. Usually Cas wears neutral colours and a Constantine-esque trench coat no matter what time of year it is. Today he’s got a gym bag over his shoulder and a bright red t-shirt with gold lettering spelling IRON MAN across his chest.

“I didn’t know you owned something with colour.” Charlie pipes up behind him and Dean would kick her if he wasn’t trying to wrap his head around Cas’s shirt.

Since when was Cas into Marvel? He distinctly remembers Cas snubbing his comic books when they were twelve and calling them ‘juvenile’ and he’s never, not once, mentioned anything about the Avengers franchise filling up the big screens lately. Honestly, it actually makes him feel pretty good that they’ve been friends forever and there’s still things that Cas does that surprise him.

It hits him right around then that he’s been standing here staring and not saying anything and that could maybe, in some cultures, be considered more than a little rude. Dean clears his throat and lifts his gaze from Cas’s chest to his eyes and right away he feels calmer. He licks his lips and an easy smile comes to them. “Hey Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” Cas smiles too and he gestures at his own shirt. “Are you ready for Iron Man?”

“That’s what we’re seeing tonight?”

“I never joke about Tony Stark.” He goes dead serious and even Charlie’s giggles stop behind Dean. But then Cas grins and pulls two tickets out his pocket. “I already covered the tickets. Was there anything you wanted to snack on during?”

The answer of ‘ _you_ ’ is on the tip of his tongue but Dean swallows it down and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good.” He had his fill of popcorn last night and he had three cokes with dinner, so he should (hopefully) be set for the rest of the evening. “What’s with the bag?”

“I told my mother I would be sleeping over at your house tonight.” Cas snags Dean’s arm and starts pulling him toward the lineup. “We have that project we need to work on this weekend, remember?”

They don’t have a project. Dean knows this for a fact. Hell, even Sam knows it.  _Holy crap_. He grins over his shoulder at the twin stunned expressions on Charlie and Sam’s faces. This night just keeps getting better and better. And it doesn’t stop there. When they get their seats, Charlie and Sam end up sitting in the row directly in front of them. That should be a downside, but it’s not because Dean gets the treat of seeing Charlie twisted around on her knees in her chair having an avid discussion with Cas about the pros and cons of remaking the Hulk movies with Mark Ruffalo.

Dean’s only contribution to the entire conversation before the house lights go down is a marriage proposal. That gets brushed off with a group laugh, but Dean does lean in and whisper in his ear during the previews. “When did you get to be such a hardcore geek?”

“About the time I realized if I wanted you to want me too, I should probably give your interests a chance.” Cas smiles at him in the dark and slides his arm through Dean’s, linking their fingers when he finds his hand over the cup holder. “You’re lucky I found them all just as fascinating as you.”

For the first time in his life, Dean is actually grateful for the louder-than-necessary previews. If Sam or Charlie had heard that, they’d never let him live it down. He knows he’s blushing. He can feel it burn across his cheeks and into his ears and everything. Cas probably can’t see it, but Dean squeezes his hand and leans into Cas’s side. He’ll show Cas just how much that means to him later when they’re working on their ‘project’.

“Oh, one more thing.” Cas ducks in close and whispers again. “I would like to apologize if I happen to get excitable during this movie. I’m a very enthusiastic about these movies.”

“I’ve seen movies with you before, Cas.”

“Not  _these_ kind of movies.” He pats Dean’s arm and tilts his head toward the screen. “It’s starting.”

Dean zips his lips and turns his attention back to the screen. He’s seen all sorts of movies with Cas before and the most that he can remember ever happening during them is that Cas grabs his arm and squeezes like he’s trying to wring juice from it whenever they’re watching something in the horror or thriller genre. And he’s pulled at Dean’s sleeve and sniffled through tear jerkers before. Cas is the entire reason that Dean carries a pack of tissues in his coat pocket at all times now.

As gung ho as he is to enjoy the movie and his date with Cas, Dean finds his eyes getting heavy before the flashback to 1999 is even over. By the time they’re back in the present of the story, his head is on Cas’s shoulder and he’s fast asleep.

* * *

Should he find it worrying that they’re not even a half hour into the movie and Dean is already asleep? Castiel had picked this movie not because he wanted to see it, but because he knew Dean would enjoy it and it seemed like a good idea for their first official date. Of course, Castiel had  _really_  wanted to see the movie too. But he’s specifically never seen any Marvel movie with Dean for a very good reason.

Castiel is an… enthusiastic watcher. He nearly got kicked out of the first Transformer movie when his brother had taken him because he’d punched the air and shouted ‘OPTIMUS PRIME’ every time he was on the screen. He’ll gasp and wiggle in his seat, and his brother has left the theater before with bruises on his arm from excited punches. Castiel didn’t want to ruin their first date with that. Which is why he went to see a premier at a different theater last night to get all that out of his system. It’s easier to watch the movie calmly when he knows what’s going to be happening next.

But Castiel can barely focus on the movie. He’s caught up in the weight of Dean’s head on his shoulder and the warmth bleeding through his t-shirt against his side. Dean’s fingers twitch in his sleep and Castiel rubs his thumb over his knuckles, more fascinated with the calluses he can feel on his fingertips and palm than the movie.

This is the first time that he’s allowed to touch. Dean has always been tactile with him. They’ve shared the bed during every sleepover and Dean has never been shy about throwing an arm around his shoulder or grabbing his wrist to tug him along. The more that Castiel thinks back about it, the more he realizes that he should have known about Dean’s attraction to him before.

He’s been hiding his own desires for years and it came as a rather nice surprise when Dean asked him on this date. Castiel knows he’s moving a little quickly by arranging to sleep over at Dean’s house directly after their first official date. But he wants to talk to Dean about this. If they’re going to make this a continuous thing - if they’re going to move past being simply  _friends_  - well, that feels like something that they should discuss.

If this date is successful, despite Dean sleeping through it, will they be doing it again? What if Dean’s sleeping is because he doesn’t enjoy the movie and he’s bored? If he’s not and it’s only because he’s tired and they  _do_  decide to go on more dates, will Dean want to kiss him? Will he want to do more than just kissing? Would he be willing to  _touch_  him? Has Dean ever been with a boy before? What kind of experience does he have?

Dean hasn’t been shy about discussing his romantic (and often sexual) exploits before, but this new revelation of his feelings is making Castiel reevaluate everything that has happened between them for as long as he can remember. Has Dean told him  _everything_? How much of it is truth?

There are so many questions in his head and Castiel wants to ask them all. Tonight. After the movie that neither of them seems interested in watching now. Castiel does his best to close off the part of his mind that keeps throwing the questions out and focus on the screen. He liked the movie and he wants to pay attention, but it’s hard when his brain won’t stop thinking.

Sam and Charlie don’t seem to be having the same difficulties. They’re both completely engrossed until halfway through the movie when Sam turns around to offer his popcorn over the back of the seat. He freezes mid-motion and lowers the popcorn back to his lap. Castiel hopes he isn’t going to do anything to wake Dean. It’s rather nice having him sleep on his shoulder again. Dean hasn’t done that since the bus ride to the summer camp they attended together four years ago.

Instead, Sam nudges Charlie and gestures back over his shoulder. She takes one look before she gets her cell phone out to snap a few pictures. Castiel makes sure that each one has a disapproving glare in it. That way, when they use it to blackmail Dean later, he’ll know that Castiel wasn’t party to it from the start. Both of them grin over the back of the seat and give Castiel the thumbs up. If neither of them are concerned, then it must be alright for Dean to be sleeping right now.

This isn’t much of a surprise, really. Dean always wakes up early to take care of Sam and he works hard in all his classes. He’s allowed to be tired every once in a while and if he’s comfortable enough to fall asleep with Castiel here, then that’s fine with him. If he had to admit it, he’s pretty tired himself. Just enough for him to rest his cheek against the top of Dean’s head and muffle a yawn into his hair.

Before he knows it, Castiel is asleep too.

It’s still the best date he’s ever been on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters:** Dean Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags:** vampire!AU, creature!Cas, creature!Dean, canon!AU, whump!Dean

At what point did he ever think it would be a good idea to hunt a goddamn  _wendigo_ on his own? It was probably around the same time he thought that he was completely capable of hunting alone. Dean’s pretty sure someone somewhere has told him before that pride will be his downfall. He doesn’t remember who said it, but they’d probably laugh in his face if they could see him now.

It was out of spite that Dean took this job. Dad left him and Dean was bitter. Still is, in fact. So much so that how could he possibly pass up coming to this forest and looking into the recent rash of ‘ _bear_ ' attacks? Yeah, like bears really tear apart their victims like that. He's seen the difference and memorized it just like he memories everything that Dad teaches –  _taught_  him, actually, since he decided to go off on his own without an actual fucking explanation.

Bitter. Resentful. Hurt, and more than a little angry. Yeah, that’s all Dean Winchester right now. All of that and a little bit of sulking while he’s skulking through a mine shaft with the heavy potential of housing a pissed off and hungry wendigo inside. Which is, in reality, a horribly stupid idea. Any hunter would say so. Bobby actually did when Dean told him where he was going and what he was doing.

What he should have done – what he  _wanted_  to do – was go to Sam and see if he’d be willing to come hunting again now that Dad isn’t in the picture. He’s the whole reason that Sam left in the first place. Maybe he’ll come back now that Dean is alone. But first, he has to prove himself. If Dad took off because he thinks Dean is only going to slow him down with the hunt for whatever the hell killed mom, then Dean’s going to prove him wrong. He’ll take this wendigo down on his own  _and_ get Sammy hunting again. That’ll show Dad he’s not so useless that he can be easily left behind.

His point would’ve been  _so_ well made if the wendigo hadn’t gotten the drop on him. One minute Dean’s shining his flash light down a supposedly abandoned mine shaft and the next he’s having a sudden, yet intimate, meeting with the wall. At least he manages to fire the flare gun. It’s only one shot and he wastes it, missing by a mile. The only good it does is give Dean a  _really_ good look at the wendigo before it bitch slaps him into unconsciousness.

*

His shoulders ache like a bitch when he wakes up. Dean has no idea how long he’s been out, but it’s long enough for his hands to go numb. He’d check his watch, but it’s digging into his skin and hidden under a metric fuck ton of rope – which is what’s over the hook and keeping him suspended from a goddamn ceiling. Well. This is just  _great_. The slap from before is making his ears ring and there’s not a whole lot he can do when his damn feet aren’t even touching the ground or without knowing what happened to his bag and all his supplies.

The wendigo doesn’t seem to be around, but it can’t have gone far. They like to keep their meals fresh. It’ll be back soon and Dean won’t be living long after it is. He gets maybe a good ten minutes of struggling and trying to lift his legs to pull himself up or some shit (if fucking  _Riddick_  could do it in Crematoria, then Dean should at least be able to do it in a goddamn mine shaft) before he gives up and tries swinging. Maybe if he gets enough momentum going, he’ll be able to rip the hook out of the ceiling or something.

All his other plans go right out the window when the wendigo slouches its way into the room. Dean isn’t sure if his heart actually stops or if it’s just pounding too fast and too hard for him to feel anymore. He swings to a stop, the wendigo rocking in sync with him. Its eyes look hollow and dead – a great sign that it’s nothing like the human it supposedly once was.

Fuck. Fucking  _fuck_. Dean has nothing up his sleeve right now. The absolute best that he’s going to be able to do is try and kick the monster to death. With its claws, he stands a better chance of farting rocket fuel out his ass and flying to the moon. He doesn’t even get to worry about the shadows moving behind the wendigo when it swings it’s arm back. Dean lifts his leg to try and block it, but that does shit all when sharp claws rip through his chest, tearing flesh just as easily as they do clothing.

The second swipe cracks his ribs and the third bites into his stomach. Dean can taste blood on his tongue and the pain hits him a few seconds later. His cry is gurgled and choked. The wendigo leans in close and Dean coughs something at it, a curse, a plea for mercy, he doesn’t know what it is but he needs to say  _something_  before the thing takes a bite out of him.

Fire hits it from behind. Dean squeezes his eyes shut at the bright light and wishes he could close his ears to the inhuman wail. He can feel the heat of the flames as they scorch through the wendigo, it’s skin the best fuel for the fire. In seconds its a pile of ash on the floor and Dean’s quickly losing the ability to pay attention to it. Blood keeps dribbling down his chin and his clothing is soaked with it. He can feel the hot slide of it going down his legs through his jeans.

Sounds are getting duller and the room is getting darker, despite the flames licking at the remains of the wendigo. He can barely make out the shapes getting closer across the room. People, from the looks of it. A half dozen, maybe more. Only one of them keeps approaching, stepping over the wendigo pile like it’s no big deal that part of it is still on fire or something. Dean can only make out bits and pieces of the man – a trench coat to his knees, stubble, and sharp blue eyes that spark with something almost inhuman. Although that could just be him on the brink of death and all.

But he’s not ready to die. Dean doesn’t want to disappoint Dad, or leave Sammy behind, and Bobby is going to hate himself for not stopping him. He can’t leave just yet and not like this. Not in some stinking hole in the ground surrounded by complete strangers who may never tell anyone what happened to him. The man in front of him goes in and out of focus when Dean shakily lifts his head to look at him. He squints and tilts his head to the side. Is this bastard really going to just stand there and watch him die?

Dean spits out the blood pooling on his tongue. It’s hard to talk, but he coughs through it enough to get out; “I don’t want to die.”

He can’t see the man’s reaction, but he does lean in closer. His hand comes up and covers Dean’s throat, squeezing lightly. For a moment, Dean thinks he’s going to choke him, but he stops. “How badly do you want to live?”

“ _I don’t want to die._ ” It’s pretty much a miracle that he manages that again.

“Would you do anything to stay alive?”

Dean nods, his chin knocking against the man’s wrist before his eyes roll back, his head drops, and darkness takes him again.

*

The room is pitch black when Dean opens his eyes again. Or, at least, it feels like it should be. It’s  _really_  dark, but he can still make out the shape of a light hanging directly above him. Hell, he can even tell that the ceiling is a slated roof made out of wood, like a  _cabin_ , and he sure as hell wasn’t in a cabin the last time he was awake. At least, he’s pretty sure he wasn’t. There was a mine shaft, pain, blood loss, blue eyes – wait. One of those things is not like the others.

Well, he  _was_ on the verge of dying after all from what the wendigo did to him. Hallucinating isn’t all that surprising, to be honest. If he believed in them, Dean might almost say that it was an angel come to take him away. But he knows he’s not going to the good place. There’s only one place a Winchester like him would belong.

“Is this Hell?” Dean grumbles, bring his right hand up to rub over his face. It doesn’t go far and immediately his left hand is jerked to the side. “What the fuck -?” He tries moving both his hands, but one gets pulled down to whatever he’s lying on whenever he lifts the other one. After a brief moment of experimentation, he finds out that the same goes for his legs. His confusion and panic mingle together and spike through the roof.

“You’re bound.”

Sounds like someone’s been gargling gravel for breakfast. Dean whips his head to the side and squints into the dark. That’s not even necessary. He can totally make out the shape of another person standing in a closed doorway. They must’ve been there for a while because he sure as hell didn’t hear a door close. And with how  _clear_ that guy’s voice sounded just now, he’s pretty sure he would’ve heard that. Hell, he can fucking  _smell_ the guy from here – not that he stinks. Dean can just…  _smell_  him. He can smell a lot of things now that he’s focused on that and it’s starting to freak him the fuck out.

“Well, I figured that much out, genius.  _Why_  am I tied up?”

“For our safety as well as yours.” Heels thump on creaky wooden floors and Dean can pick out every sound. His hearing was  _never_ this good before and something a lot like dread is starting to creep into his chest.

He drops his voice to a near whisper. “What did you do to me?”

“You didn’t want to die.” A shadowed arm reaches over him and pulls the cord under the light. Dean hisses and closes his eyes, looking away. “We saved you. More specifically,  _I_ saved you. Just as I always have with every one of that wendigo’s victims who didn’t want to die.”

This has got to be some powerful fucking magic to bring people back from the edges of death better than they were before. He opens his eyes one at a time, squinting until his eyes adjust to the light and he can see – in ridiculously stark detail – the man above him. “So, you’re a hunter?”

A frown pinches between his eyebrows and he starts rummaging around in the pockets of the over-sized trench coat he’s wearing. “I’m not.” He pulls Dean’s wallet out of his and flips it open. “If you know of hunters, then you must be one. I was hoping that your identification had been wrong. You truly are Dean Winchester, son of John Winchester?”

Not a hunter, but knows of them. Saved his life. Made him  _better_. This is  _so_ not boding well right now. “Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“This is going to be a problem.” He puts Dean’s wallet next to his hip and stares at him. This is definitely the same guy Dean’s pretty sure he saw in the cave. Those eyes aren’t easily forgettable. “My name is Castiel.”

“Good for you.” Dean frowns and tugs at his wrists. In the light he can make out the rope holding them down and judging by how high up he is in comparison to this  _Cas_ , he must be on a table or something and the ropes are tied under it. “Untie me.”

Cas shakes his head and turns away. “I can’t do that. Not just yet. You’re going to be hungry soon. Let me get you something.”

He leaves the room and Dean takes that opportunity to test the ropes. They’re pretty damn tight and he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be able to break them. With those a lost cause, he props himself up on his elbows and takes a look around. The room is about expected of a cabin. There’s a chair on his left and judging by the things piled on the shelves behind him, Dean thinks he’s currently strapped to what was once a desk. A bed sits off to one corner, and all the three windows – one on each each wall except for the wall with the door – are covered. Literally not a speck of light is getting through them and Dean wonders if it’s because it’s night time right now, or because they’re that heavily shaded.

Something in the back of his mind is whispering worries and Dean firmly ignores those theories. They’re impossible after all. Extinction took care of that problem for the hunters a long time ago. He keeps trying to tell himself that even after he notices that he’s down to a pair of jeans that aren’t his and no shirt. It gives him a damn good look at his stomach and chest – both places where the wendigo ripped him open. All that’s left to show for it are scabbed lines, nearly healed.

Unless he’s been unconscious for weeks, Dean shouldn’t be this far recovered. And those sure as hell wouldn’t be leaving nothing behind. These puppies should be leaving scars. Big ones. Ones that would tell the world that he was a colossal fucking idiot for trying to take on a wendigo solo.

Those worries are getting harder to ignore and when Cas comes back in the room, Dean turns a withering glare on him. “What did you do to me?”

“I asked you if you would do anything to survive. You gave your consent.” Cas crosses the room to him and holds out a familiar bag. “Are you hungry yet?”

Dean’s seen those bags plenty of times. Usually, though, they’ve be hanging from an IV rack in a hospital room. He shouldn’t be seeing one now and he sure as fuck shouldn’t be  _salivating_  at the sight of the red liquid inside. Blood. That’s fucking blood and Dean’s lips part on their own, tongue darting out to lick them. He wants it. He actually fucking  _wants_ it.

His gums start to itch and Dean can’t help running his tongue over his teeth, confirming his suspicions. In front of his normal, every day, I’m-totally-human teeth are long jagged fangs. Impossible. Fucking  _impossible_. They’re extinct. Each and every one of them was hunted down and beheaded. He knows. He helped. This can’t be happening. He’s gotta still be hallucinating from blood loss in that stupid mine shaft.

He forces himself to look away from the blood pack to meet Cas’s eyes again. “What. Did. You. Do. To. Me.” His voice only shakes slightly.

“You said you didn’t want to die. This was the only way to save you.”

No. Impossible. This isn’t happening. But Dean  _needs_ to know, even if he has to whisper to get the question past the lump in his throat. “What are you?”

“You’re a hunter.” Cas tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “You know what I am. You hunted my kind to the brink of extinction.” He leans in closer and smiles, his own fangs descending over his teeth. “Go ahead, Dean Winchester. Tell me what we are.”

“ _Vampires_.” Dean spits the word like poison. “Why –  _why_ did you turn me?”

“I wasn’t going to. We’ve been living in peace with that wendigo for years and we were forced to kill it when it started drawing too much attention to this area. We’ve been hiding here quietly, away from hunters like you.” Cas shrugs and puts the blood on the table next to Dean’s wallet. “Had I known you were a hunter, let alone the son of _John Winchester_ , I never would have tried to save you. I normally don’t when someone is that close to death. You were almost too far gone for the change. I was planning on giving you a merciful ending, quick and painless.”

He frowns and leans in closer. “And yet… There’s something about you, Dean.”

Anything Dean was going to say gets stuck in his throat. Cas’s eyes are enchanting. There’s untold years and power behind them. Dean can feel it, pushing into his head and bringing words into his mind that he didn’t know before. This is his sire. The head of his coven. The oldest of all of them and Dean knows this without really knowing  _how_  he knows it. That information came across when Cas fed him his blood and saved his life – but this isn’t what Dean wanted.

He doesn’t want to live as one of the monsters he hunts. How is he ever supposed to face Dad again like this? John would kill him on the spot. Bobby would too. Maybe even Sam. How can he even  _live_  like this? Sure, his body is going to want blood, but Dean doesn’t. He’s not sure he can bring himself to eat it. And he’s supposed to bow his head to this asshat? Cute or not, there’s no fucking way Dean is going to be  _thankful_ for what this clown did to him.

Cas tucks his hands into his pockets and leans in closer, eyes narrowed in a squint that manages to be both suspicious and curious all at the same time. “What is it about you, Dean Winchester, that made me save your life? I’d very much like to find out.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters:** Dean Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags:** fluff, domestic!AU (kinda)

Dean loves Cas, he really does, but sometimes having him as his best friend is a pain in the ass. Specifically speaking, when Cas goes to visit family, Dean’s the one in charge of going over to his tiny ass little house to water his fifty bajillion plants. That’s probably an exaggeration, but not by much. Cas’s house is practically a jungle and when Dean walks in the front door on the first day to water them, he wonders if Cas has a machete around for him to hack his way to the kitchen and the water jug on the counter.

There are creeping vines and all sorts of long, stringy plants hanging from the ceiling, along with about half a million potted plants lining the walls and shelves. At this point, Cas might as well be living outdoors. Hell, the house is basically over run by plants both inside  _and_ outanyways. From the street (and Cas is super lucky he lives far enough out of town that this isn’t a problem for his neighbours), you can barely see the house for all the plants that have grown up the walls. You canhardly see the doors and windows as it is.

It’s just a one story little square of a building; tiny little living room that barely fits the four piece furniture set in there, itty bitty little kitchen with everything shoved together on one wall and next to no counter space or room for a table. Cas’s dining room is out on the _veranda_  – and that isn’t spared from hanging flower pots and things either. It’s a little cluttered, but it’s just so very  _Cas_  that Dean kind of loves it anyways.

He starts with watering the outside plants with the hose before working his way through the inside with the watering can. Actually, it’s more like a jug, but Dean isn’t picky about his word use. As long as the job gets done in the end, it’s all the same shit – just in different piles.

While he’s reaching up to get the potted plants on the top of the bookcase, one of the bound books on one of the shelves catches his eyes. It’s a neat leather thing with some kind of gold filigree twisting along the spine. There’s no name, but Dean can’t resist taking a peek. Cas does, after all, usually have pretty damn good taste in books. He’s the one who got Dean into Vonnegut and those practically changed his life. This one is new. Dean hasn’t seen it on the shelf before and he’d like to think that he knows Cas’s collection pretty well. It’s ridiculously big and it’s only the new things go on the shelves upstairs. All the others are downstairs on the cases lining Cas’s bedroom walls.

This whole house is a fire hazard waiting to happen.

Dean knows that he shouldn’t touch it. He shouldn’t nose about in Cas’s things without his permission first, but even while he’s finishing off the last of the plants, he keeps getting drawn back to the book. As soon as he’s done what he came for, Dean turns off the little voice in the back of his head that tells him this is a bad idea and throws himself across the short couch, kicking his feet up on the armrest with the new book in hand.

The print inside looks a little like Cas’s handwriting. He’s had the neatest, most uniform writing for as long as Dean can remember. Cas has been mimicking printed word for years and back in highschool it was super helpful with forging letters from the teacher or the office once Dean got the signature all figured out.

On the first page, Dean can tell it’s kind of a Dear Diary set up, written from the point of view of the character. This isn’t really Dean’s cup of tea, but it’s kind of interesting. Not exactly Anne Frank, but right from the get go he finds the character captivating. They kind of remind him of Cas with their obsession with plants, and all the little things – like their penchant for sweaters and the more homey things in life.

Everything that Dean loves about Cas is reflected in these pages as he flips through them. It’s what keeps him reading. That and how the character keeps dropping hints that makes Dean think they’re in love with someone. Except he can’t imagine Cas being in love. He barely shows any kind of interest in anyone and only goes on dates at the insistence of his family – kind of like the diary writer in the book.

If he didn’t know better, Dean would almost say that he’s reading about  _Cas_ _'s life_  from Cas’s point of view. It’s kind of hilarious really, since it almost looks like Cas’s handwriting and it was on his bookshelf and everything. Wouldn’t that be hilarious if Cas really wrote this? But of course he didn’t. It’s a book and Cas doesn’t write actual  _books_.

Dean wonders who the author is and flips to the first page again, before the writing even starts. The only thing there is a; “If found, please return to…” box with Cas’s name written in it. Dean’s heart just about stops when he reads over Cas’s name a half dozen times or more, written in the same neat script as the rest of the book he’s been reading.

“Oh. Fuck.”

This is a goddamn diary and it’s quite literally  _Cas’s fucking diary_.

Wow, Dean just crossed about fifteen different lines of bad friend here. He’s invaded so many kinds of privacy that even  _he_ feels uncomfortable, and half of Dean’s personality is being a nosey bastard about pretty much everything. The rest is booze, pie, burgers and sex. Not in that exact order, but pretty damn close.

Dean knows what he’s supposed to do. He’s supposed to close the book, put it back on the shelf and completely forget about it. At no point is he ever going to mention it and Cas can  _never_ know. But there’s something about the fact that Cas is in love with someone and has never told him that’s digging into the back of his brain. It’s like an itch that Dean can’t scratch physically, but maybe if he just saw a  _name_  – if he read  _who_ Cas was in love with – he would be able to scratch it mentally.

He skims the pages until he sees another name. Of course the last thing Dean expects to see are the four letters of his own name staring up at him. Dean closes the book with a snap and scrambles up from the couch to shove it back into place on the shelf. He backs away slowly, staring at the shelf and trying to make sense of what he just learned.

Cas – his best friend for more years than he can count,  _that_ Cas, is in love. He’s in love with  _him._

“Holy –” Dean shakes himself out and turns away. He can feel heat flood his cheeks and this – this is embarrassing for them both. Cas can never know now. He’d hate Dean for this even more than if he  _hadn’t_ learned anything from reading his fucking  _diary_.

Besides, Cas will be back in a few days and Dean needs to get over this. Nothing is going to change. If Cas wanted him to know, he would’ve said something by now. And it’s not like Dean loves Cas back. Well, of course he does. But not like  _that_ , right? Sure, Cas is his best friend and he spikes well past a ten on Dean’s scale of attractiveness. But that doesn’t mean he wants a relationship or anything with the guy. Right?  _Right_?

Great. Dean didn’t expect to leave Cas’s house confused beyond all reason with the hopes that a bottle of jack will be enough to get his mind off matters. That doesn’t work so well. When he goes over the next day, it’s with a hangover. He’s got a few more day until Cas gets back and he  _has_  to go make sure the plants are alright. Otherwise Cas will skin him alive and use him as fertilizer – and Dean has that threat in writing.

The third day is slightly less confusing than the first and second, but Dean still can’t look at the bookshelf without going red in the ears. Something about it keeps digging itself deeper into his head and it’s not just about how bad he feels for going through something so personal to Cas and finding out something he wasn’t exactly willing to share.

Well, he has one more day to figure it out – and that’s still not enough time. A part of him wants to act on what he read and  _do_ something about it. Really, this isn’t the first time that he’s thought about the possibility of kissing Cas. Seriously, who doesn’t entertain those fantasies about their close friends every once in a while? But Dean  _likes_ that. It gives him a goopey warm feeling in his stomach, like he just ate a dozen s’mores and he’s the happiest guy in the world.

Thing is… How is he supposed to tell that to Cas without outing himself for reading the diary he  _really_ wasn’t supposed to have been reading? And if he just comes right out and says something like; “I think I might love you as more than a friend. Do you want to try dating me?” … Well, if he just comes right out and says  _that_ , Cas might suspect him.

He needs a good way to do this. Dean just doesn’t know  _what_ that might be.

* * *

> _Dear Manly Journal,_
> 
> _Last week I might have accidentally read something at Cas’s place that I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to have read. But seriously, who leaves their diary on a frikken shelf in their living room? That’s just begging for trouble. I mean, I stopped reading as soon as I realized what it was… But not before I saw my name and realized that what I had been reading was partly about ME._
> 
> _The weird thing about it all? I can’t stop thinking about it._

x

> _Dear Manly Journal,_
> 
> _I’ve been thinking about Cas a lot more than usual lately and, y’know, evaluating our friendship and what it means to me. Or more what HE means to me._
> 
> _Cas is… Fuck. Cas is awesome. He hates half the stuff I love and vice versa, but it doesn’t really bother us? Cas still listens to my tapes in the Impala and calls me out when I turn them too loud. And I can’t stand his blues or that orchestra snooze fest he listens to – but that’s only on my own. When I listen to it with Cas, he kind of has this way of making me NOT hate it._
> 
> _This isn’t just about music either. Food, friends, shows, movies. I didn’t really realize just how big of a part Cas has in my life until I started thinking about this._

x

> _Dean Manly Journal,_
> 
> _Alright. I’m willing to admit this might be a problem now._
> 
> _I had a wet dream about Cas last night. I wish I could say it was the first, but… That would probably be lying. (It’s not like I remember ALL my dreams, okay??)_
> 
> _The one last night, though? Better than that dream I had about Dr. Sexy. And Cas wasn’t even wearing any cowboy boots._

* * *

After his weekly visit to Cas’s place, Dean is a mess. He’s been planning today out down to the letter since Cas came back from his family trip and now it’s here. After weeks of filling out a journal full of stupid little(mostly true) things about how he feels for Cas and how bad he feels about reading the diary, he was ready. Today, Dean left the journal strategically placed on Cas’s bed. Even if Cas figures out that it’s a diary pretty fast and stops reading it, the front of the book has a great big  _For You_  scribbled across the front. Hopefully that’ll be enough to make him read it all the way through.

It’s not more than an hour or so later when the doorbell rings. Cas is standing on the welcome mat, face pretty much as blank as it can get. He holds out Dean’s journal (which is a hell of a lot less impressive than the one on his bookshelf). “You forgot this.”

Dean can feel a blush starting to creep up his neck and he tries hard to ignore it as he takes the book. “I did? Silly me!”

Cas just shrugs and turns away. He’s halfway down the porch steps before Dean realizes what’s happening and goes after him. “Wait! Cas! Didn’t you read it?”

“No.” He turns to give Dean a dark look over his shoulder. “Unlike some people, I don’t read what isn’t intended for them.”

His heart seizes in his chest and Dean is almost sure that this is what cardiac arrest feels like. Cas didn’t read the rest of it? “How far did you get before you stopped?”

“I threw the book across the room after the first paragraph and spent the last hour face down on my bed plotting the various ways I’m going to kill you.” Cas’s cheeks start getting red and his hands shake a little at his sides. “Do you have  _any_  idea about how violated I feel right now, Dean? How could you  _read_ that without –”

Dean shoves the book at him again, pointing at the cover. “I didn’t write that for show, idiot. You’re  _supposed_ to read this one.”

He takes the journal and frowns down at it. “I don’t understand.”

“Just read it and come get me when you’re done.” Before Cas can say anything else, Dean ducks back inside and shuts the door. He can’t be here for this. You’ve gotta be made of stronger stuff than Dean Winchester if you’re going to be confessing your feelings in person.

To make sure that Cas is actually doing it, Dean crouches by the corner of the window in the living room and watches him from behind the curtain. Cas sits on the stairs and flips through the pages faster than Dean could ever hope to read. He’s convinced that Cas is borderline genius or something. If he tried, he could probably read about as fast as Reid from Criminal Minds.

When he’s done, Cas stands up as cool and collected as always and knocks on the door again. Dean bangs his knee on the side table getting up and he tries hard not to act like it’s stinging like a bitch when he answers the door. Just like before, Cas holds the journal out to him.

“So, you read my diary.”

Dean frowns down at the book and tries really hard to ignore the way his stomach is sinking right now. “Seriously?  _That’s_  what you’re taking away from this?”

Cas shrugs and crosses his arms, shifting his weight to one leg as he looks Dean over. “You  _do_ know that I write as a hobby, right?”

That’s like a two-by-four bitch slap to the face and Dean can’t do much beyond staring at Cas until the puzzle pieces slot together in his head. “Shit.” He resists the urge to hug the book to his chest like it’s some kind of shield that can protect him from the pain pinching behind his ribs right now. “Was – was that a story you were writing in a diary format?”

Cas raises his eyebrow and he’s in mid-nod when Dean shuts the door. His face is bright red in the mirror hanging beside the door as he locksit for good measure. He can’t look at himself. All Dean can do is put his back to the door and sink down to sit on the floor, his face in his hands. This can’t actually be happening. He can’t  _actually_ have fucked things up this bad. Did he just ruin his relationship with his best friend in at _least_ two different ways?

How is this actually his life?

The door vibrates against his back when Cas knocks on it again, but Dean ignores it. He ignores it just like he’s going to basically ignore the rest of the world until time stops moving because he is  _never_ leaving this house again.

The flap over the mail slot creaks behind him and Cas’s voice comes through, only muffled by the flap on the inside and under Dean’s back. “Before you reach the point where you’re too embarrassed to ever talkme again, I would just like to say that there  _is_ a reason why I based that book off my life  _and_ why the love interest is named after you.”

A ridiculous little laugh bubbles up in Dean’s throat and he knocks his head back against the door. “God _dammit_ , Cas. You should say those things  _first_.”

“Yes, well, half an hour ago I felt like my trust had been horribly betrayed. You’ll have to forgive me for wanting to tease you a little.”

Dean stands up and opens the door, glaring at Cas through the crack before Cas pushes it wide open and all but forces his way into the house. “It serves you right, Dean. You shouldn’t read my stuff without asking. It makes you out to be an ass.”

With how his emotions just got twisted around right now, Dean can maybe be forgiven for his pouting and how he turns away from Cas. “I’m mad at you. I don’t think I want to kiss you anymore.”

Cas shuts the door and gives him the same kind of smile that Dean’s been thinking about for the last few weeks – soft and fond and reserved just for him. “You want to kiss me, do you?”

“Not anymore.” Dean crosses his arms for good measure. “You’re a dick.”

“That’s not what your journal said.” He crouches to pick up the book where Dean abandoned it on the floor. “Are you  _positive_  that you don’t want to kiss me?”

Yes, Dean wants to kiss him. That particular  _want_  has only been growing over the last few weeks. But he’s not going to admit that  _now_ when he’s irritated and oddly happy all at the same time. “Yeah, well, I write on the side too, don’t’cha know?”

Cas slants another little smile at him. “Oh, really?” He holds the book out to Dean with another raised eyebrow. “How does it end, then?”

There are a variety of ways Dean wants that journal to end. He grabs it from Cas and all but stomps his way to the kitchen to dig around for a pen in one of the drawers. Sam does his university homework in here all the time, so there  _has_ to be one in here somewhere. As soon as he finds one, he parks his ass at the kitchen table and scribbles as fast as his fingers will let him on the last page of the book.

Cas putters around for a few minutes with the teapot and the little canisters of tea that Dean has especially for him. He’s waiting patiently at the table when Dean turns the book around and shoves it towards him.

> _Dear Manly Journal,_
> 
> _Today I confessed to Cas. He was an asshole about it, but that’s what I love about him. He even let me kiss him and now we’re dating. It’s all sunshine, puppies, kittens, and rainbow-farting unicorns. Sam would cry if he was here._

Cas’s smile grows while he skims over it a few times. Calmly, he closes the cover and moves the book and his tea cup off to one side. “That’s a good ending, although it does have a few loose ends you should tie up. For example –”

Yeah, Dean really doesn’t want to hear those. He reaches across the table and grabs the front of Cas’s stupid sweater. Cas shuts up right around the time Dean pulls him forward and meets him over the table for their first kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters:** Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, GIlda, (unnamed: Balthazar, Rachel, Anna, Hannah, Samandriel, Inias)
> 
>  **Tags:** Gargoyles!AU, creature!Cas

Castiel’s tail whips through the air behind him, adjusting the course of his glide slightly as he circles around the highest most tower of the keep. For decades now, this has been his resting place during the day when the stone sleep takes him. It has been a quiet night, and those are always welcome, though he can’t help but worry about when the next wave of invaders will attack.

If they’re lucky, it won’t be during the day. His clan can do nothing to protect themselves during the stone sleep. They are all but forced to accept the help of the Humans, trusting them to be their guards when the rising sun turns them to stone. It’s the Humans’ job to watch over his clan and their hatchery, kept safe in the caverns under the castle – just as it is his clan’s duty to guard the Humans when the moon takes to the sky.

They were here long before the Humans and he suspects that they will be here long after. Humans are fleeting – with weak bodies, short lives, and violent ways. Despite his clan’s claws and fangs, they are peaceful and want nothing more than to be left alone to hunt and raise their young as is needed. If this symbiosis was not necessary for their survival, Castiel would have chased the Humans from their home a long time ago.

Tonight, the young king is waiting for him by his daily perch. Castiel lands before him, his wide wings folding around his shoulders for his talons to hook together in the hollow of his throat. They go limp and drape down his sides, much like the cloak the king wears. They dip their heads in mutual bows, acknowledging the rank and presence of the other.

“To what do I owe this visit so soon before daybreak, your highness?” Castiel has been here long enough to have seen the young king grow from an infant to the ruler who stands before him now. Their relationship has always been one of understanding and kindness, almost friendship, though the times of late have tested that. War with the invaders has weakened many bonds within the confines of the keep.

“Unrest, Castiel.” He sighs and turns to face the East. It won’t be long now before the glow of the sun will break its edge. “My war council believes that we should send you and your Gargoyles to destroy our enemies during the night.”

Castiel’s lip curls at the name the Humans gave them. They had no word for themselves before the Humans arrived. “We are not yours to command.”

“I know that, Castiel. Truly, I do. It’s the council who sees you as property of the castle; decorations we can call on to do our bidding when we need it.” The young king turns to him, his eyes filled with pain as he reaches up to put his hands on Castiel’s shoulders. “I come to you as a friend and as an ally to  _ask_  for your help.”

“You’re asking us to leave the castle.” He turns away, climbing onto the stone perch where he spends the day. His wings spread wide, billowing in the breeze coming off the sea. “I will have to speak with my brothers and sisters about this.”

“I understand. Sleep well, my old friend.”

As the sun rises, Castiel crouches into a fearsome position to ward off the evil spirits who would seek to harm them during the day. It always itches as his skin turns to stone and the sleep takes him, but come evening, when he breaks free of the bonds and stretches to the sky, he is fully rested. Had he been wounded, they too would be healed.

Without hesitation, Castiel steps off his perch and drops to the terrace below. Three of his most trusted clan members are there, stretching and shaking out the stone dust from their hair and wings. He touches the shoulder of the red-headed sister who led the clan before she made him their leader.

“Sister. Gather a few of our friends. We must visit the king’s war council before they take their nightly rest.”

She raises an eyebrow curiously and nods, gesturing for the yellow haired twins to remain where they are. Though they aren’t truly twins, they both bear the same golden hair and have always been referred to as such – despite their dislike for it. Rarely do they actually get along. Castiel has been friends with his blonde brother since their days in the hatchery and his blonde sister is loyal and steadfast whenever he calls upon her.

He waits with them for their sister to return with three others and he looks to her in surprise at the young warrior she brought with her. His sister has always had good judgement and if she believes this wide eyed youth to be a good fit for their team, than he will trust her choices. Of the other two, he recognizes another, not much younger than himself, that he knows to practically idolize him. The dark haired sister next to him is one that Castiel has often considered as someone who could take his place whenever he should ever choose to step down as clan leader.

“Are you satisfied, Castiel?” His red-headed sisters asks, gesturing at the gathered group. “I assumed you wanted a team who would fight well together.”

“I did, thank you. Depending on this meeting with the council, we may very well be leaving the castle tonight.”

His golden haired friend snorts in surprise, tail lashing behind him. “Leave the castle? Why in the bloody blazes would we do that?”

“To ensure the safety of the humans and our clan.” Castiel levels him with a stern look, silencing any further outburst. “Come. We don’t want to waste the night. If we’re to leave, I would like to be back before sunrise.”

*

It takes more than one night to cleanse the camps of their enemies. Castiel hates being away from the castle and his clan for so long, but it is necessary. They razed the camps to the ground and what few injuries they sustained were healed with the stone sleep before they would return to repeat the process under the cover of darkness the next night.

As they finally turn towards home, Castiel doesn’t like the bitter taste of worry twisting on the back of his tongue. There is doubt about the safety of his clan. It sits at the back of his mind, overshadowed by the untrustworthy eyes of the young king’s chief counsellor. He had seemed far too eager for Castiel and his team to leave the keep.

His doubt and fear washes away with the wind when they break over the hills. Joy and relief seeps into his bones at the sight of the castle on the cliff, standing sturdy and unbroken. They glide on the winds, wings beating every so often to keep them aloft as they finally return to their ancestral home. This is where they belong and it is satisfying to be back again.

It is his golden haired sister who is the first to cry out when they get near enough to see. What few Humans who are still awake walk along the castle walls without regard for the smashed stone on the perches around them. Castiel’s breath catches in his throat before a pitched cry tears from his chest, echoing pain and loss out over the sea and matched by the friends who fly at his sides.

“Look out!” The youngest cries and Castiel tucks his wings in, tumbling to the side and out of the way of a volley of arrows.

They’re attacking him. This is his home and those who should be his allies are  _attacking_  him. He will not stand for this. Castiel  _will_  have his answers, even if he has to rip them from the king himself with his own two hands.

“Keep them busy.” He hisses, knowing that the fearsome glow in his siblings’ eyes is reflected in his own. “The king is  _mine_.”

The king is dead. Castiel crashes through the curtains that cover his balcony entrance and finds finds him in his bed, a knife buried in his heart. His rage is tempered by the sadness at the passing of an old friend and Castiel crouches next to the bed to take his hand. He is cool to the touch and the scent of death is heavy in the room. The young king has been dead for at least a day already – perhaps even before the destruction of Castiel’s clan.

Confused, Castiel stares down at the face of his once friend, unsure whether to mourn his loss or revel in it. His answer comes when the door flies open and the chief counsellor strides into the room. Castiel can practically smell the scent of his betrayal. He doesn’t need any questions. The smile on the counsellor’s lips holds all the answers. “ _You!_ ”

“Your kind are a plague on our castle and you poisoned the heart of our king.” The counsellor hisses and his smile falls away to be replaced with a false horror. “Guards! The monster has murdered the king!  _Guards!_ ”

Castiel snarls, flaring his wings. He drops to all fours when the guards storm the room, bounding out of the way of their spears. There is no other choice for him now. Either he takes his vengeance and risks what few of his clan remains, or he gets them to safety and a new home. It’s their survival that is his top priority now and Castiel refuses to fail them as he did the others.

He throws himself from the balcony as his dark haired sister finds him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Castiel! The hatchery – it’s –!”

“Fly!” Castiel shouts, choking back the pain already settling heavy in his chest. “Along the coast. Spread the word to any who survived.”

It’s no surprise that the only ones who follow are the six he had with him. Sunrise is fast approaching and he has no idea if the betrayers will follow. He knew that many of the humans were never comfortable with his clan living so close, but he never thought it would come to this. So many have died and already the sky is brightening in the distance, a smear of red on the horizon to mark the blood spilled.

They find a cave hidden along the cliff walls of the coast. No human would be able to reach it whether on horse or on foot and Castiel can’t force his friends to go any further. None of them have the heart to take their fearsome positions when the sun spills through the cave mouth, turning their skin to stone when its light touches them. The last of their tears slip down stone cheeks.

*

They are not alone when they wake. Castiel roars, his piercing cry threatening to bring the cave down around their ears as he turns on the figure standing at the entrance of their cave. The smell of the Fey wafts around them like a perfume but it does little to ease Castiel’s ire. Dark eyes watch him from under a hooded cowl.

“What do you want, mystic? We have no quarrel with you or your kind.”

“Calm yourself, named one.” She speaks softly but moves no further into the cave. “I am Gilda, envoy of the Fey. I have come to offer you safety.”

His red-haired sister touches his shoulder. “I would suggest that you listen to her, Castiel. Fey do not make their decisions lightly.”

It is a struggle, but Castiel fights back the storm of rage and pain in his chest. He failed as a leader and he cannot let it happen again. No matter what his sister says, Castiel cannot afford to be so cavalier with his trust. His wings drape around his shoulders and Castiel rises to his full height, head held high.

“Why do the Fey come with this this offer?”

“You will be the last of your kind soon enough.” Gilda bows her head and pulls her hands from her sleeves. “And it is not your fate to be here now. That is a time far ahead of us now. If you allow me to help you, I can guarantee your safety in the light of day for the ages to come.”

The youngest steps forward to Castiel’s side, hunched over by how his wings are connected to his arms. He is the last of their clan now with wings like that. “I don’t understand.”

Gilda spreads her hands as light dances between her fingers, arcing over her head to form a shimmering portal to what can only be the realm of the Fey. “If you accept our aide, you and your clan will sleep through sunrise and sunset. We will guard you in your stone sleep in our lands until your time has come to return to this realm. Then, and only then, will you wake again.”

“I need to discuss this with my clan.” Castiel turns from her to look at the few remaining members of his once large family. “What do the rest of you think of this?”

“What other choice do we have?” His golden haired brother shrugs and looks to the others. “How long will it take us to find a new home? How will we know that we’ll be safe during the day?”

The dark haired sister huffs a soft laugh. She looks lost and Castiel’s heart aches at the memory of the clutch of eggs she had in the hatchery. “We have no way of being sure.”

“You have our word as Fey kind.” Gilda interjects gently. “We are bound by it.”

That is all that they need. Together they follow Gilda through the portal she wove into the air and soon after, they sleep in a circle with claws and fangs bared. Even here, they want to strike fear into the hearts of those who would dare to approach them in their vulnerable stone sleep.

*

The church beneath him is old and crumbling, but massive like the keep they once had. Castiel stares out over the stone marked graves in the field far below, watching the twinkling lights in the distance. They are far closer than he would like them to be.

When they had awoken, Gilda had been here with a message for them – cryptic instructions of their role to play in the coming times. She had been dressed in a much different attire than when he had seen her last; tight, flashy clothing of a foreign material. From her, Castiel had learned that centuries have passed since that night in the cave and the stars he can see shimmering on the land is actually a Human city of buildings taller than any castle. So much has changed for the Humans, but nothing has changed for Castiel.

Despite his centuries of sleep, his trust for the Humans has been badly damaged and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to follow the instructions Gilda left with him. He does not want the Humans to know of his clan’s existence anymore than he wants to see the changes they have made to this world. For the safety of his clan, he has made the choice to stay here in this derelict church.

Now their focus is to revive the clan and protect what little land they can call their own. Even though it is an important task to replenish their clan, Castiel has no interest or desire to mate with any of his surviving friends. He leaves that task to them, choosing instead to keep guard. This time, Castiel will not fail in protecting them.

Maybe, once he has learned of how this world works now, Castiel will be ready for his clan to see what has changed in this world. Until then, they will live in secret here, away from the edges of the city.

* * *

“That makes fifteen in the last two months.” Dean throws the file down on Sam’s desk and rests his hip against the filing cabinet. “What do you say we go check it out?”

“We’ve had reported sightings of ghosts and all sorts of crap out at that church for years.” Sam moves the file out of the way to keep working on his current report. “What makes these so special?”

Since when did his little brother lose his sense of curiosity? Dean mourns it briefly before he leans forward, putting both hands on desk and covering Sam’s work. “Fifteen reported sightings from known vandals and vagrants. Each and every one is about winged monsters with glowing eyes. I looked into all other cases involving that church and you wanna guess how many of those actually had similar reports?”

“I’m going to guess… None?”

Dean snaps his fingers and gives Sam a double thumbs up. “Exactly! We should check it out. I’ve already got the chief’s permission. C’mon, we haven’t gone out together in  _ages_.”

“Just let me finish this report first.”

He pouts and sits on the edge of the desk. “Fine. But don’t take too long. I want to get there before dark. It’ll be way too fucking creepy if we go after sunset.”

*

It’s just his luck that they get there shortly before sundown. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say that Sam did it on purpose like the bitch that he is. See if Dean ever does something awesome for him like making sure Sam gets assigned to the same unit as him so they can have all sorts of fun buddy-buddy cop adventures.

“So, who made the last report?” Sam asks over the hood of the Impala. Being promoted to detective was never sweeter until they told him he could drive his own baby. Sam’s flashlight is already out and sweeping up the side of the Church.

“A group of kids claiming they were just here to hang out.” Dean shrugs and switches his back up radio to the unused frequency he and Sam keep as their own. “I told the chief we were coming out here to check for any damages they might have caused so we can charge them.”

Sam rolls his eyes and turns the light on Dean’s face. “Dean, you’re a _detective_ now. You can’t just  _lie_ to Singer because you want to go monster hunting!”

“It’s not a lie. We’re doing both.” He laughs and holds out a hand. “Rock, paper, scissors for who gets the graveyard and who gets the church?”

“Hell no. You get the building. I’ll handle the dead people.” Without another word, Sam stalks off into the oncoming dark, not even noticing that Dean flips him the bird.

The inside of the church is pretty dilapidated – and Dean doesn’t use ten dollar words like that lightly. One of the towers is almost completely crumbled, the stairwell full of rubble and shit that no sane person would try to climb through. The place kind of reminds Dean of all the pictures he’s seen of that bigass cathedral in France.

After a quick run through of the main floor, Dean doesn’t find anything mysterious or worth noting. There’s a bunch of damage and graffiti, but the only fresh stuff he can find is on the wall of a stairwell leading up into the last remaining tower. It looks like not even a group of punkass teens had enough balls to go down into whatever catacombs are beneath this place. Dean doesn’t blame them. Just going up is scary enough, especially when he comes out onto a terrace and finds himself face to face with a goddamn stone Gargoyle.

Dean clamps his lips shut around the surprised shout that claws its way up his throat. He covers his heart with his hand, his badge digging into his palm through the fabric of his suit jacket as he waits for it to calm the hell down. Once he’s pretty sure his heart isn’t going to jump right out of his chest, he squints at the lined face and short cropped hair.

“Dude, you fugly.”

It’s actually not, but he feels the insult is justified for the grey hairs he’s bound to get from that. In fact, all the Gargoyles spaced out along the terrace are the most Human looking he’s ever seen. Usually the ones in pictures and paintings have grotesque, warped faces. These ones are actually pretty cool, and compared to the rest of the building, they’re in damn good shape. He spans the beam of his flashlight over them all, taking in the wings and fangs.

Oh. Dean pulls his radio off his hip and holds it to his mouth. “Sam, I think I found the monsters. Over.”

“Where? Over.”

“North tower. They’re fucking  _Gargoyles_. Over.”

He snorts and shuffles down the line of them, studying each one. There’s six in total guarding the terrace and another staircase that leads up to another layer of the tower. Dean isn’t usually one for heights, but there’s the shape of another Gargoyle against the clouds in the fading light of the sun and it’s kind of a  _what-the-hell_  decision to head on up and take a look at it too.

This one is different from the others. Dean leans out over the edge of the tower wall to get a good look at its face. Two great horns twist out of its hair and back over its head. Its wings are spread wide and the tail twists out behind it, but unlike the others,  _this_ Gargoyle is crouched and gripping the stone between its feet. Instead of snarling and showing a mouthful of sharp teeth, this one is staring out toward the city, almost like its watching over everything.

“For a Gargoyle, you’ve got a pretty face.” Dean pats it on the cheek and laughs as he turns away, squinting down into the graveyard for the beam of light that marks where Sam is walking. He lifts his radio to his mouth again. “Hey, Sammy, what’er the odds that I can spit on you from up here? Over.”

“Don’t you dare. Over.”

Cackling, Dean lifts his flashlight above his head and waves it back and forth. “C’mon, Sammy. Come a little closer. Over.”

“You come here.” Sam laughs. “Take the short way down. Over.”

That’s a pretty poor joke in the long run. Before Dean can come up with a snappy come back about how much Sam would miss him if he decided to make himself a sidewalk pancake, something else catches his attention. Dean silences the radio and turns his flashlight on the area around him. Was that stone cracking? Shit. Is this whole goddamn place about to fall apart under his feet?

But that sound isn’t coming from the tower below him. It’s coming from right  _beside_  him. Dean’s hand is surprisingly steady as he lifts the beam from the stone floor to the Gargoyle. Thin cracks are spider-webbing across its entire surface and Dean just about stops breathing. In the distance, the last of the sun disappears over the horizon and almost simultaneously, the rock shatters.

Dean has to duck and cover from the spray of gravel. Seconds later he’s dropping both his flashlight and his radio when a roaring cry fills the air and he slaps both hands over his ears. It’s matched in spades from somewhere just below and Dean has just enough time to contemplate the pros and cons of pissing himself before the  _very much alive_ Gargoyle in front of him shakes out the remaining chips of stones from its wings and turns around to face him, eyes glowing and teeth bared.

“Dean? Dean! What the  _hell_  is happening up there?” Sam’s voice is coming crackled through the radio and the Gargoyle glances down at it as it jumps of its perch.

Judging by the physique,  _it_  might just be a  _he_  and that doesn’t change Dean’s piss factor any more than the fact that the glow has faded from his eyes and the Gargoyle is glaring at him with a blue that’s no less terrifying. Especially when he opens his mouth to show his fangs again. They’re just as long and sharp as the others.

“What are you doing here, Human? This is  _our_ home.” His wings snap out wide and Dean takes another step back, fumbling to get his gun from its holster. “ _Leave_.”

The moment Dean lifts the gun, the Gargoyle’s eyes light up again. In one bounding leap, he’s across the tower and yanking the gun from Dean’s hand before he can even switch off the safety and cock the hammer, let alone pull the trigger. There’s an oddly satisfying (and extremely bone chilling) crunch as the gun crumples in the Gargoyle’s hand.

Alright, so, strong as fuck  _and_  terrifying. Got’cha. Dean puts more space between them, backpedalling as quick as he can when  _more_ Gargoyles flap up onto the top of the tower. Maybe he could make a break for the stairs – nope, there’s some coming up those too. Alright. So. Quick recap: Dean’s screwed seven ways from Sunday.

He takes two more steps and something hits Dean hard in the back ofhis thighs before his whole world tilts violently. One minute he’s staring at a bunch of monsters that  _really_  shouldn’t be existing right now and the next he’s looking at the sky and the tower is moving away from himat an alarming rate. This is it. He’s falling to his death and he’s going to die and Sam is going to hate himself for that crack he made a few minutes ago.

Dean isn’t expecting the blue-eyed Gargoyle from to dive off after him. He stretches his wings out and flaps them, boosting his fall and reaching out for Dean. Call him crazy, but Dean would rather go with the monster that looks like it’s trying to save his life than get first hand experience at why gravity is such a bitch. He doesn’t think twice about flailing both hands out, trying desperately to grab the Gargoyle’s hand.

If Sam ever tells anyone how Dean actually wrapped both arms around the shoulders of a Gargoyle as it cradled him to its chest, he’ll probably end up in the looney bin. Both of them would because Dean’s reaction would corroborate that he’s just as batshit crazy as his brother. He buries his face against the Gargoyle’s neck and clings to him for dear life, hating the jerking pull of gravity that threatens to dislodge him when the wings snap out and they glide out of the fall. It’s not until they’re both standing on solid ground that Dean even  _thinks_ about letting go.

As soon as he takes a step back, the Gargoyle’s hand closes around his shoulder and squeezes. “It wasn’t our intention to harm you. We only want you to leave our home.”

Dean nods and holds his hand out to Sam, not even needing to look to know that he’s probably got his gun out. It’s already going to be hard enough to explain one damaged firearm, let alone  _two_. “It’s – uh – it’s cool. Sorry. I think we got off on the wrong foot here, don’t ya think?”

“I don’t understand.” He galnces back over his shoulder at the other Gargoyles that sweep down into the graveyard behind him.

Taking a deep breath, Dean holds out his hand. “You just saved my life. The least I can do is tell you my name. It’s Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester. And this is my brother, Sam. We’re cops.”

The Gargoyle stares down at Dean’s hand for a minute before he squints at him. He looks like he’s about ready to give him the same amount of trust Dean would have with leaving a cat and a mouse alone in a room together. “What are ‘ _cops_ ’?”

“We’re the, uh, good guys, I guess. We fight crime and triumph over evil and all that jazz.”

One of the other Gargoyles, a red-head, touches blue-eyes’s shoulder. “I believe he means that they are like knights. Did Gilda not say that when the defenders come to us, we are to welcome them?”

Understanding fills those blue eyes, but the lack of trust doesn’t change. If anything, they get  _more_ doubtful. He nods his head slowly before he reaches out and takes Dean’s hand in a solid grip that damn near crushes it. “Hello, Dean Winchester. I am called Castiel.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters:** Dean Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags:** fantasy!AU, domestic!AU (kinda), creature!Cas

“We can pay you.” The mayor all but begs, holding out a cloth bag that is no doubt filled with coin. “Please, dragon slayer, save our children!”

Dean accepts the bag and pours a few of the coins into his hand. They’re lucky that his fee has never been high. All he needs is enough to cover his room and board until the hunt is complete, but everyone always pay more than he asks. For Dean, hunting dragons is about the thrill and the good of the people. The profit he makes from it is purely a bonus. This particular job, however, leaves a sour taste in his mouth and it has yet to begin.

The mayor had contacted him through messenger nearly a fortnight ago, begging for his assistance when they first noticed that the children who frequent the streets had gone missing. No one noticed it  _while_ they were disappearing and it irks Dean that this town only seems to care when the threat might now be to the children with families.Nobody cared about the orphans.

He can thank his younger brother and the veritable horde of children he has back on their family farm for his soft spot regarding any quests that involve kids.

“Do you know what kind of dragon I’ll be dealing with?” Dean asks, tucking the bag of coins into his saddlebag. “Is it our standard fire breather or did you luck out and get one of the special ones?”

“A light dragon.” The mayor points toward the mountains that loom over his town. “Its cave is in the western valley, barely a day’s ride from here. The signs will show you the way.”

Great. Light dragons are always difficult. They’re tricksters with their magic and they always play dirty. If they’re not trying to blind you first, they they’re focusing their light into blazing hot beams that can pierce through armour. Dean would rather deal with fire, to be completely honest. A good shield can protect him from the worst of the flames. The best he can do to protect himself against a light dragon is make sure his shield is as reflective as possible and hope this one doesn’t try to blind him straight from the start.

*

The cave is set in the rock face at the valley’s end, exactly where the mayor said it would be. Dean dismounts and leaves his horse tied to a tree well back from the cave. When on the road, she is his only companion. He won’t risk her being hurt. If any dangers comes to her, she knows that if she pulls hard enough, the knot in her reins will come undone and she’ll be able to flee.

Dean draws his sword and lifts his shield to his shoulder, tightening his grip on the leather strap in his hand. Already the excitement of the hunt is starting to slip through his veins, making his heart beat hard under his armour. If it gets any louder, the dragon will hear him long before he finds it.

The mouth of the cave is wide, but it narrows significantly less than a dozen meters in. Dean carries a torch in hand with his shield, holding it high enough to see the way the tunnel twists out of sight around a bend. Before he reaches it, the ground shakes with the footsteps of a beast far bigger than himself and he tosses the torch aside, ready for what is about to come.

A pale, pointed, snout is the first he sees, scales flashing white and blue in the flickering flame of the torch. There are illuminated dots along the dragons scales, a natural light that glows in its skin along its body as it pads slowly into view. Its eyes glow with a fierce blue-white light as it turns to regard Dean fully.

“Leave.” The dragon’s voice rumbles through the tunnel, shaking dust from the ceiling. “I have no desire to fight with you, knight.”

“I am a protector of the realm and slayer of dragons.” Dean slashes the air with his sword and points it at the dragon. “The people have summoned me to end your thieving. I won’t let you take another of their young.”

Snorting, the dragon lowers its head and flares its scaled, feathery wings in the space available to it. “Leave with your life while you still have it, dragon slayer. I will not make this offer again.”

“I’d hate for you to waste your breath.” He sneers, holding the shield in front of his body should an attack come. He can easily duck his head behind it to hide his eyes, and the reflective metal should hopefully deflect the weaker attacks. If the dragon chooses not to play, there is nothing Dean can do to stop a focused attack.

To his surprise, the dragon doesn’t move. It stays where it stands, watching him with glowing eyes. If it’s waiting for Dean to make the first move, then he shouldn’t let it be disappointed. With a cry, Dean charges. The dragon rears back out of the way of the first swipe of Dean’s sword. The back of its long neck flattens to the ceiling, its shoulders curving. It turns just lightly and whips its tail forward. The feathery scales at its end are no less hard and it stings as it knocks Dean from his feet.

He tumbles head over heels back toward the mouth of the cave and springs to his feet as easily as he can with the chainmail rustling under his surcoat. It’s dangerous to remain on one’s back when a dragon is about, but to his surprise, this dragon does not move after him. Maybe it truly isn’t looking for a fight, but Dean can’t disregard that the children have disappeared and the dragon did not deny the accusation.

Three more times Dean tries to attack and three more times the dragon knocks him back. It’s only Dean’s ego that is wounded in the process and his frustration increases with every attempt. Is the dragon toying with him? Why won’t it just  _fight_? This is unlike any hunt Dean has ever had and even though he always welcomes the challenge of theunexpected, this is starting to rankle his nerves. Not understanding a dragon’s motives is never very enjoyable.

“Enough!” The dragon hisses, stomping its paws and digging its claws into the hard dirt of the tunnel floor. Before Dean can say otherwise, the light from the glowing design covering the dragon intensifies.

Finally! It’s going to try to blind him. Dean is prepared for this and he raises his shield to cover his eyes. Any blow he expects after that never comes and the cave grows dark again. Slowly, Dean lowers his shield to glance over its edge, surprised by what he finds. The dragon has taken a human form and Dean can see now that it is male. He stands naked on thick legs ending in clawed paws no different from his dragon form, a closed bulge between his legs where his genitals would be.

In human form, the dragon is perhaps a few inches taller than Dean with his horns and a tail twists down behind his legs. His skin holds the same colour as his scales did; a blue verging nearly on white and his design still glows faintly all over his body. The dragon’s eyes no longer shine in this form. In the flickering light of the dying torch, the dragon’s blue eyes watch Dean with nothing short of contempt.

This is both an intriguing and confusing change in events. Dragons are far more vulnerable in their human forms. As beasts, they are covered in tough scales that can only be broken by the sharpest of weapons. Like this, their skin is practically human in most places on their body. Dean has never gotten close enough to a dragon in human form to note just where it stops being so very  _human_.

A dragon can still use magic like this. In fact, spells should be stronger now with the added use of powerful gestures. Dean cannot allow that to happen. He has a job to do and it won’t be done if he allows the dragon this chance. It’s a dangerous idea, but Dean drops his shield nonetheless as he digs his toes into the ground and launches forward. The dragon’s lips curl back in a snarl and light gathers in his hands moments before Dean tackles him.

They tumble back into the tunnel in a heap and Dean has to dodge the dragon’s tail to get a good position above him. Claws dig into his thighs, tearing through his surcoat and clinking against his chainmail. Dean raises his sword above his head, the tip of the blade aimed for the dragon’s throat. A voice in the back of his head tells him that this is too easy, but he ignores it. Easy jobs don’t come often and he should appreciate them while he has the opportunity.

Of all things, Dean isn’t expecting a rock to ricochet off his helmet. In surprise, he looks up just in time for another to ring against the metal of his helm. The dragon hisses and twists, attempting to get on his side as he looks back in the direction of the flying stones. Dean lifts the visor covering his eyes and squints toward the dark curve of the tunnel. If his eyes aren’t mistaken, the shadows throwing stones at him are very distinctly  _children_  shaped.

“Get back to the cavern!” The dragon hisses, gesturing sharply with one hand.

“No!” One of the children, a boy who could be no older than thirteen comes forward with a pile of rocks in his arms. He launches a handful at Dean. “Leave Cas alone!”

Dean shields his head with his arm and staggers to his feet as the other children, all of varying ages, come forward. Each of them has a small arsenal of stones and they don’t hold back with pelting them at him until he is several feet away from the dragon. He can’t help but take note of the tears in their eyes or how the youngest drop their rocks and run to the dragon as he sits up.

“CasCas, are you hurt?” They gather around him, some even crawling into his lap.

“I’m fine.” He hushes them, leaning forward to lick the tears gently from their cheeks and smooth his claws through their hair. “I told you to stay in the cavern.”

The older ones place themselves between Dean and the dragon, though they’ve thankfully stopped throwing their stones. “We couldn’t let him hurt you!” They glare at Dean. “You thinks he ate us, right? Well, we’re not eaten. Cas hasn’t done anything wrong, so you can just  _go_.”

Carefully, Dean removes his helmet and holds it pinned to his side under his arm. He runs a hand through his hair and looks in confusion from the children to the dragon. It looks like all the children that went missing are present and, for dirty orphans, they all look very clean. Even their clothing has fresh patches sewn in over tears and holes. This is an unexpected development.

Bluntly, Dean gestures with his sword. “I came to save you.”

“We don’t need saving.” The oldest draws his arm back again, but the dragon is already on his feet and he grabs the boy’s wrist.

“That is enough, Inias.” He uses the points of his claws to take the rock from the boy’s hand and drops it. “Take your brothers and sisters back to the cavern. I need to speak with the dragon slayer.” This  _Cas_  turns his cold blue eyes to Dean. “Which would be the entire reason I took this form in the middle of a battle. I had hoped you would be amenable to  _discussion_  prior to murder.”

Dean resists his natural impulse to wince at the accusation. He’s never known a dragon to use words over action. Is it really his fault that he was going on instinct? Attack first, ask questions later. It’s always worked for him before. He saw no need to change it now.

The dragon ushers the children back into the tunnel, nudging the younger ones along with his tail until they have all gone. Then and only then does he turn back to Dean. “They don’t want to go.”

“To be completely honest, no one thought the children were still alive.” Against his better judgement, Dean sheaths his sword. “I was hired to kill the dragon to protect the children still in town.”

The dragon frowns and shakes his head. “Those children have families and homes.” He gestures back over his shoulder. “I only took the ones who had no food or shelter. That is what I give them here.”

Dean’s stomach twists and sinks to the general vicinity of his knees. Suddenly his throat feels very dry. “If I’m understanding you correctly… You’re  _taking care_  of the orphans?”

“Yes.” He nods and pads over to the torch, picking it up. “Here they don’t have to whore themselves out to indecent individuals for barely enough coin to feed themselves. Here they do not go hungry and they do not freeze. I take care of them.”

It is, perhaps, a little hard to believe that in all his years of hunting, this is the  _first_ nice dragon that Dean has ever met. Regret and doubt war behind his ribs, rising a lump in the base of his throat. If this dragon, Cas, is actually  _good_ , how many others has Dean killed that were good too? He’s been indiscriminate with his hunting in the past and now Dean has the sneaking suspicion that his hunts in the future will be forever be changed by this one meeting.

“This puts us in a difficult situation.” Dean sighs, taking the torch when the dragon offers it. “You’re not doing anyone any harm, but I was hired to kill you. If I go, I need to return with some kind of proof that you’re actually, well,  _dead_.”

The dragon stoops to pick up Dean’s shield too. “I can see your conundrum. I am not dead and you no longer desire to kill me – for which I am thankful. What can I do to help? What proof do you usually take back?”

He shrugs and runs a hand through his hair. “As long as you aren’t obvious that you’re still here, you should be alright with the townsfolk. As for proof?” This is where things get more awkward and Dean can hardly bring himself to look the dragon in the eyes. “I usually return with a tooth, or a head, sometimes a wing or part of the tail. Once I took a paw. It’s usually the horns that are easiest to take.”

Generally, a dragon’s horn isn’t much longer than Dean’s arm. When he feels particularly vindictive at the end of a hunt, Dean takes the horn as added insult. Dragons are known to be very proud of their horns. They never stop growing for a dragon and the longer the horns, the older and stronger they are considered to be.

After a moment’s contemplation, the dragon shifts again. Dean shields his eyes and quickly makes room for the beast form. It is easily three, possibly four, times the size of his horse. Dean watches, surprised and slightly awed as the dragon lifts a paw to touch the horn rising from his left temple. He rubs it slightly before sighing and dipping his head.

“Would it guarantee that the children would be safe? No one will bother us here?”

“It should be enough.” Dean shrugs, unable to look away. Is the dragon really going to break off one his own horns for this?

Glowing orbs of light start to dance in the air around the dragon’s head and Dean can’t help but tuck himself behind his shield. The glow increases until the entire cave mouth is filled with light, forcing Dean to close his eyes. He doesn’t open them again until something heavy thumps to the ground. When he looks again, the dragon has returned to his human form and his left horn has been cleanly cut from his head. It lays at his feet and the dragon stares at it mournfully.

“There.” He gestures at it and steps away. “The safety of these children is more important than my own vanity”

Dean feels terrible. Not just that the dragon had to deface himself for this, but for every dragon he’s ever killed. No. Every  _monster_  he’s hunted. How many of them were like this dragon? How many of them only had the crime of existing and living near humans? He will need to be more discerning with his hunts in the future.

The dragon helps him carry the horn to his horse. Even she doesn’t seem fazed by having what should be a threat so near. She even allows the dragon to pet her neck while Dean ties the horn behind his saddle. He swings up into the seat and looks down at the dragon.

“Your name is Cas?”

“Castiel. The children have difficulty pronouncing it and have shortened my name.” A small smile lifts his lips as he looks back toward the cave. “I have grown fond of it.”

Nodding, Dean tugs the reigns to turn his horse toward the path back to town. “Are all dragons as nice as you?”

Cas looks back at him, tail twitching behind him. “Are all humans nice?” When Dean does not respond, another smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “There is your answer. Some of us deserve the fate you bring them, others do not. You should make your choices wisely next time, dragon slayer.”

“Winchester.” Dean ducks his head, looking away from those blue eyes. The judgement he sees in them will haunt him for weeks to come. “My name is Sir Winchester – or Dean.”

“I know. Your reputation precedes you.” Cas turns away, padding back towards the cave.

He does not bid Dean farewell and Dean doesn’t wait for it. Now he must return to town and tell them a lie. Dean already has it planned in his head. The townsfolk will only ever know that the dragon is dead and the children were nowhere to be found.

*

For the first time in his life, Dean returns from a hunt before it is finished. His reputation helps him get quests, but it does him no good when he attempts to  _talk_ to a dragon first to determine if they are truly what the townspeople claim they are. Every beast goes on the defensive and Dean can’t bring himself to fight them anymore without knowing for sure whether they are good or bad.

“I will return in a fortnight.” He explains, returning the coin to the confused village leader. “To carry out this hunt, there is some… _research_  that I need to do first.”

The village head looks into the bag and frowns. “This is more than we gave you.”

“I have a few items that I need.” Dean shrugs and looks toward the mountains in the distance. “Fabric for clothing. Food – meat, and flour for bread. Wrap it well, I have a ways to go before I can use it.”

Miraculously, they manage to fit everything on his horse. It would have slowed him down to have to rent a cart as well. It is but a few day’s ride to Cas’s valley and Dean arrives just as dusk is creeping into the skies. To his surprise, he finds Cas and the children outside. Cas is sitting on a rock with one of the older girls kneeling before him, her back to him as he brushes her hair with his claws. The others are chasing bouncing balls of light, laughing loudly when they collide and explode into hundreds of smaller lights that race around until they join together again.

Dean finds himself unable to look away from the scene. It sets a warm glow in his heart and he’s content to stay on his horse, watching from under the cover of the trees until one of the children spots him. They call for Cas’s attention and Dean waits to be summoned forward. This is their home now and he refuses to enter it before he has their permission.

The children group around and behind Cas’s legs as he approaches, a suspicious frown pinching between his eyes. “Why have you returned?”

“I need your help.” He swings down to stand level with him, and to make it all the more obvious that he wears nothing more than a tunic over his pants. The rest of his armour and his shield are being held in the village and his sword is strapped to his saddle. “I also brought some items I thought might help you with the children.”

This, at least, seems to catch their attention. Cas nods and gestures towards the cave. The children laugh and run ahead while Cas walks sedately with Dean. This time he gets to see the cavern where they live. A stream of cool water cuts through one side of it and tents of rough cloth are strung between poles of stone, shading beds of hay wrapped in thin blankets from the orbs of light, almost as bright as the sun, that are nestled between the stalactites above their heads.

“If I can measure the children, I’ll be able to help make them new clothing.” Dean explains, unloading the fabric onto the floor. He helped keep his brother clothed as they were growing and he’s been in charge of maintaining his own clothing for longer than that.

Cas watches silently as the excited children gather around. Dean uses his hands to measure across their shoulders and to their hips, marking the measurements in a book. As he does so, he explains his situation to Cas. By the end, the smile on Cas’s lips is almost smug.

“You need to gain their trust.” He explains, lifting one of the young children to balance her on his hip. “We do not easily trust any creature save another dragon. What you need is a dragon-mark to prove that you are trusted by one of us.”

“Would you give me one?” Dean asks, looking up from measuring the last of the children.

For a moment, Cas regards him over the head of the child in his arms. “It is an intimate spell and would require that I have complete trust in you. Even with your gifts today, I do not fully trust you.”

“What can I do to help you trust me?” He stands and the last of the children runs off to play with the others. “I’ve done my best to keep the townspeople from bothering you and I can continue to bring you the supplies you need to care for the children. What do you feed them? Meat? They need more than just that and your magic can only do so much for them.”

Dean faces Cas fully. “I want you to trust me, Cas. I don’t want to hurt those who don’t deserve it. I’m a protector of the realm and everything that resides in it – including dragons.”

To his surprise, a blue light flickers behind Cas’s eyes. It washes out from their center and disappears with a blink. As soon as it’s done, his whole demeanour relaxes – as if he has finally dropped his guard. Cas leans over and puts the child in his arms down, nudging her shoulders to send her to play with the others.

“You spoke the truth.”

“Of course I did.” Dean tilts his head in confusion. “You could tell that just from looking at me?”

Cas gives him an odd look and the light flashes in his eyes again. “I can see more than just your physical form, Dean. Every creature has a soul light. Some shine brighter than others and the brighter the soul, the greater the good within the person.” His tail curls behind him as he smiles. “And you are very bright.”

He can feel a blush heat his cheeks and it’s all he can do not to duck his head to try and hide it. “Does that mean you’ll help me to help the dragons?”

“Yes, Dean. But after you have helped me put the children to bed.”

*

Cas’s private cave is off the main tunnel before it opens into the cavern. Dean is surprised that he didn’t notice it when they passed it earlier. He is even more surprised when orbs of light flare to life along the ceiling, revealing chests of coins and jewels piled against the walls and a bed draped in silks.

He turns to Cas with an eyebrow raised. “What is this?”

“I may be kind to children, but I am still a dragon.” He shrugs and smoothes out the blanket on the bed. “We like to hoard shiny things. Is that a problem for you?” Dean shakes his head and Cas nods, pleased. “Good. Now lay here. You will need to remove your shirts.”

This is not the first time Dean has crawled into the bed of a man, but it  _is_ the first that the bed belongs to a dragon. He tries not to shift too much when Cas kneels on the sheets next to him, leaning over to drag the point of one claw across his skin. It’s nothing but a light touch, but it chases a shiver that makes Dean’s stomach flutter.

“Where would you be most comfortable to have the mark?” Cas asks, eyes focused on the scarred expanse of Dean’s chest. “You will have to show it to every dragon you face to gain their trust.”

If he had it on his hands or forearms, it’s possible that many people would question it. But he would rather not have it on his chest where he would need to remove his surcoat and chainmail to reveal it. The longer he thinks, the more he can’t decide. Finally, Cas takes his hand and turns it over, pressing the point of a claw into his palm.

“Is here acceptable? You can wear gloves to hide anything you do not want the others to see.”

Dean nods in agreement. “Will this hurt?”

“I’m not sure.” Cas frowns down at his hand. “I have never done this before. And I should offer my apologies. Had I known this is where we would be putting it, I would not have asked you to remove your shirt. All the times that I have heard of this being done, it has been placed on the chest or shoulder.”

“It’s fine.” He shrugs and settles back into the bed, bracing himself. “Do it. Please.”

The mark doesn’t hurt. It burns, but in a way that almost feels good, as if it was Cas’s light itself that was being seared into Dean’s skin alongside his magic. The sensation races through his bones, tickling his muscles and reminding Dean of what it feels like to be aroused. For a moment, Dean fancies that what he feels is Cas’s soul – bright and burning like the sun.

It’s that heat flowing from Cas’s magic that truly aches. There’s something lonely and wanting wrapped in it and it pulls at Dean’s heart. That feeling cuts through him from start to finish and Dean can’t hold back from crying out. He grips at Cas’s arms and shoulders when Cas covers his mouth, digging his nails into the scale-hard skin that covers his arms from his elbow to his claw tips.

Dean is exhausted when Cas pulls away and he sags back into the bed, uncaring about the curious hardness tenting his pants. With the confusing mix of feelings from the marking, he isn’t surprised by it and he chooses not to acknowledge it. Cas takes a deep, shuddering breath through his mouth. Maybe he was as affected by the marking process as Dean was. His nostrils flare and Dean can see his pupils dilate in the light from his own glowing designs.

He glances Dean over from his head to his toes, his eyes never lingering as he stands. “Tend to yourself. I will check on the children to make sure you didn’t rouse them. You may stay here the night if you prefer.”

Though he had no intention to ask Cas to stay, Dean is still alarmed by the speed in which he leaves – even more so by the dusting of red in his cheeks. This is the first he’s seen of a dragon  _blushing_. Despite that, It doesn’t feel proper to relieve himself in someone’s bed, especially alone. Instead, Dean tugs the blanket up to his shoulders and rolls onto his side, intent on ignoring the need of his body and sleeping.

*

When he opens his eyes in the morning, Dean is surprised by the lines of gold chains and jewels strung along his arms and chest. Some are affixed to his fingers by rings of silver and they jingle when he lifts his hand to rub the sleep from his eyes. Cas is sitting at the end of the bed, a jewelled belt in his hands. He almost looks disappointed when Dean sits up.

“Why?” It’s the only question Dean feels he can manage this soon after waking.

Cas puts the belt aside and reaches over to help remove everything currently on him. “I was bored waiting for you and the children to wake. And you are a very deep sleeper.” He piles everything neatly in a chest at his feet. “Will you be leaving today now that you have what you need?”

“Not yet. I want to teach the children a few things first. Do you know how to make bread? Who sewed the patches on their clothing?” Dean stretches as he stands before reaching for his tunic. “What they have now should never have been patched. It’ll far apart before long. I can make a few tunics for them. They won’t need more than a belt to hold it in place and the scraps can be used to make loins.”

With a curious tilt to his head, Cas follows Dean out into the main cavern again where the children are starting to wake. The days after are busy as Dean gives them the lessons Cas didn’t know and never had the need to. It was Inias who patched their clothing and Dean shows them all how to do it properly, including how to make their own clothing. Cas pays close attention during the lessons regarding food and what they should eat and how to prepare it.

Dean’s favourite parts of those days are the games. He misses his nieces and nephews and these orphans are a good substitute. Their laughter is just as infectious and Dean goes to sleep each night in Cas’s offered bed exhausted from their endless energy. Cas never joins him, but he is always there with his bright, ageless eyes when Dean wakes.

On the day Dean chooses to leave, not having stayed more than a week, the children circle around him and his horse. The youngest cling to his legs. “Don’t go!” “You’ll come back, right?” “Stay, stay!” And the oldest tug at his arms. “Teach us how to use the sword!” “We want to protect Cas too!”

He smiles and ruffles their hair before extracting himself from their hands and climbing into the saddle. “If Cas says I can, than maybe I could return between quests.”

Everyone turns to Cas then, searching for confirmation. At first he seems surprised by the question. He shrugs and scoops up one of the little ones, turning away as if he has no care for their curiosity. “Do what you want.”

*

Dean returns to the valley once a month. He always brings with him toys, clothing, training equipment, and as much food as his horse can carry. Sometimes he brings so much that he must walk instead of riding when there is no room for him on his own saddle. Always the children are happy to see him, and always Cas welcomes him.

The mark has done Dean a great service. Few of the dragons he has been hired to slay are truly good like Cas, but Dean’s shoulders feel lighter without the weight of knowing that he risks taking innocent lives again.

As the children sort through his bags for the things he brought for them, Cas approaches. “How did things go this time?”

He pulls his gloves off, flexing his fingers and looks over the stark, twisting lines of the dragon-mark. “Very well. They calmed down the moment I showed the mark and promised not to touch the farmers’ cattle.”

“Good. I would hate for anything to happen to you.” Cas pauses, looking away as his tail twitches. “The children would be devastated.”

It’s always the same question and always the same answer. Dean only smiles and undoes the tie of a bag at his hip. He holds it out to Cas. “I got you something too.”

Whenever he finds something with a nice shine to it, Dean can’t resist bringing it back for Cas to add to his hoard. It is partly a gift and partly payment for allowing him to stay every so often, though Dean has taken to sleeping in the cavern tents with the children during his visits now.

Cas’s smile is always worth the price of whatever gem or trinket tumbles out of the bag.

*

“Hello, princess.” Dean lifts one of the girls into his arms when she runs to meet him. “Were you waiting for me? Where are the others?”

She hugs him tightly around his neck. “They went inside already. I wait every day. Just in case.”

“Oh? How come?” He sets her in the saddle and pulls a doll from one of the bags, offering it to her.

“I like it better when you’re here.” Her eyes light up and she hugs the toy happily. “Thank you!”

Dean pats her leg and takes the reins again, leading his horse into the cave mouth. “Why is it better when I’m here?”

“CasCas smiles softer when you’re here.” She holds the doll out, making it dance on the saddle in front of her. “He doesn’t look so lonely then.” Her small hands catch at Dean’s neck guard, pulling him closer as her voice drops into a whisper. “And we like having both our papas home.”

Warmth fills Dean’s stomach and his heart flutters wildly against his ribs. This is news that both pleases him and troubles him. Dean pulls her from the saddle, her giggles echoing in the tunnel as he rubs his stubbled cheek against hers. It’s best not to dwell on her words now, but he knows that they will return to him in the night.

*

This is the first return home since he learned the children call him papa. It still warms Dean to his core, but he learned more that day than he knew what to do with. Already he has been here for three days and he still has yet to give Cas the present he brought for him. He doesn’t like the nerves that stay his hand or twist in his heart.

He swallows his fears and waits until all the children are asleep before he sneaks from their tents to Cas’s private cave. Before he can even announce his presence, Cas’s voice calls out to him. “Come in, Dean.”

Cas is stretched out on his stomach on his bed, a blanket balled up and tucked under his chest. He sits up to make room for Dean, gesturing for him to sit too. “To what do I owe a visit this late?”

“I brought you something.” Dean carefully holds out a package bound in cloth.

“You always bring me something, Dean.” He takes it gently, smiling softly as he uses his claws to break the twine holding everything together.

This feels different than before. This is something Dean  _looked_  for, rather than something that caught his eye. He shrugs and runs a hand through his hair and looks down at the gift as Cas unwraps it slowly, revealing a small mirror with precious gems embedded in the frame.

“I noticed you don’t have anything to see yourself with. You should.” A blush is crawling up his neck and Dean tries to fight against it. “Sometimes you need to see how beautiful you are.”

While staring at his reflection, Cas raises his hand to the stump of his horn and drags his fingertips over the flat surface. “I’m not beautiful. I am disfigured.”

Dean slides closer on the bed and knocks Cas’s hand away to trace the edge of the horn with his own thumb. “You’re wrong. That makes you all the more attractive. You gave up something you pride yourself on to keep those children safe. There is nothing more beautiful than that.”

Colour dusts Cas’s cheeks again and he looks up at him through his lashes. “Is this a flirtation, Dean?”

“My first flirtation was when I brought you that glass statue lined with gold.” He lets his hand drop from Cas’s horn, fingers sliding over his wrist. “Have they been working?”

Carefully, Cas stands and puts the mirror on a shelf draped in silk. He slides onto the bed again, kneeling above Dean. His claws drag lightly over Dean’s face, catching on his lips before he leans in for a soft kiss as his answer. He tastes like sunlight and his skin is warm under Dean’s hands as he touches all that he can in gentle sweeps of his calloused fingers.

By the time they have him fully undressed, Cas’s erection has unsheathed and Dean has tried very hard not to be awed by the differences between them in both size and shape. He chooses instead to occupy his thoughts with Cas’s mouth, kissing him down into the sheets. Cas’s claws press in at his hip, the strength in his hands guiding Dean to move against him in a slow and gratifying roll of their bodies. His tail lays between their legs and Dean straddles it, Cas’s legs falling open on either side of him.

Next time, he tells himself as Cas’s back arches and he pants into the kisses,  _next time_ he will bring oil. Maybe then he’ll be able to get close enough to Cas to feel the light of his magic again.

*

“Have I told you we collect things that shine?” Cas murmurs from somewhere above his head.

Dean can’t be bothered to lift his head from Cas’s chest, or even to articulate a proper answer. He merely hums and rubs his cheek against the smooth skin of his sternum, a poor nod but one nonetheless.

Claws drag through his hair and Dean feels a kiss get pressed to the crown of his head. “I have seen nothing that shines brighter than you.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters:** Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Metatron
> 
>  **Tags:** serial killer!AU, domestic!AU, pushing daisies/dexter mashup

At this very moment in the city of Boston, on the edge of the sea, Castiel Collins is thirty-two years, eighteen weeks, four days, nineteen minutes, and twenty-two seconds old. Sitting next to him, his life partner, Dean Winchester, is thirty-one years, twenty-seven weeks, two days, fifty-three minutes, and four seconds old – and this is not the first time that Castiel realizes that their relationship is not all that conventional.

Sitting across from Dean’s younger brother, Sam, Castiel has this revelation yet again as he slides a plate of blueberry pie a la mode across the table to him. Sam removes his policeman’s hat and places it on the table. He sighs heavily and picks up his fork.

“I just don’t know what to do, guys.” The dejected droop to his shoulders eases after the first bite of pie. “I’ve got a stack of missing person reports on my desk and absolutely no motivation to look for them.”

Dean frowns in concern and hands Sam a napkin cut in the shape of a pie and neatly labelled with  _The Pie Hole_. “What do you mean, Sammy? Isn’t it kind of your job to look into that stuff?”

“Well,  _yeah_.” Sam pokes his fork into the pie a few times before taking another bite. “But I don’t  _want_  to. I mean, I  _do_ , but I don’t. It’s conflicting because those missing people are known offenders –reported rapists, vandals, and just all around  _bad people_.”

He looks over his shoulder at the other patrons of the restaurant and drops his voice into a whisper, leaning over the table for Castiel and Dean to lean in too. “It’s my job to look into their disappearances, but I don’t want to because it’s a  _good_ thing those assholes are gone. Get it?”

Castiel nods and he feels Dean’s hand close around his on the seat between them. He squeezes it back and the moment Sam looks down at the remainder of his pie, they share a knowing look. Of all the people in Boston, only they know what happened to the people in Sam’s folders – and it’s a secret they can never share with him.

*

In a dark alley on the twenty-third of June, four years prior to when they would eat pie at the Pie Hole with Sam, Castiel Collins met Dean Winchester for the very first time. Castiel was never scared of the dark, or the places most people wouldn’t dare to walk on at night. He doesn’t care about the scary things out there, though he didn’t know that Dean Winchester was one of them until that very night.

The first time they meet, Dean is crouched over the body of a balding man in a suit. His fingers are wrapped tight around the hilt of a knife, its blade still buried in the gut of the man in the suit. Castiel stops walking, just a few feet away, and stares at the scene playing out before him. Unlike most people who might find themselves in this situation, he isn’t afraid.

Dean pulls the knife out and gestures at the body with it. “He rear ended my car and drove off. The bastard deserved it.” He turns the knife to Castiel. “Y’got a problem with that?”

It is just Dean Winchester’s luck that he has been found by perhaps the one person in Boston who doesn’t. Castiel only smiles and shakes his head. “That’s plenty of reason for me.” He reaches into the gym bag hanging from his shoulder and takes out a garbage bag, offering it. “I have this left over from the pedophile I took care of earlier this week. Would you like to use it?”

The facts were these… In that dark alley on the twenty-third of June, the serial killers Castiel Collins and Dean Winchester first met. Eight days, twenty hours, fourteen minutes and seven seconds later, they went on their first date and fell in love over their first kill together. Almost a year later, to the day, they opened a quaint little shop on the corner and named it; The Pie Hole.

*

On the present day, Dean reaches across the table and pats Sam on the wrist. “You’ll figure it out in the end, Sammy. You always do.”

Castiel nods in agreement and stands, smoothing the creases out of his apron as Dean does the same. “We believe in you.”

He smiles up at them, completely oblivious that all his answers are standing before him. “Thanks, guys. How much for the pie?”

Dean laughs and pats his brother on the shoulder as he walks past, heading back into the kitchen to finish the preparations for the pies he’ll be making tomorrow. “Don’t worry about it!”

“We don’t charge family.” Castiel picks up Sam’s hat and hands it to him. “Stay safe. We’ll see you tonight.”

“Yeah. Jess is making meatloaf.” Sam puts his hat on, his hair flipping out underneath its edges. “Bring your appetite!” He waves over his shoulder as he heads back outside, the bell dinging over the door.

The fizz of the cappuccino machine catches Castiel’s attention and he turns to find one of their employees, Garth, glaring at the levers. As he fetches the bills that need to be delivered to their tables, Castiel grabs the instruction manual and hands it to him with a smile. Even he sometimes has troubles with that machine.

All but one of the bills is delivered without issue. Booth four is occupied by a stout, round man with messy hair and a scruffy face. There are three plates, once hosting three different flavours of pie, stacked in a neat pile next to him. As soon as Castiel places the bill on the table, he isn’t even given the chance to ask if it will be paid by cash or card.

“I’m not paying this!” The man exclaims, shoving his way out of the booth. His face is bright red and Castiel steps back, frowning in confusion as the man gestures wildly and speaks loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear. “The food was disgusting and the service was terrible! I’m not giving you a cent and I’m  _never_  coming back here again.”

He storms away without another word, the door almost crashing shut behind him. Castiel’s frown turns from one of confusion to one of displeasure. From one of the many pockets on his apron, he withdraws the notebook he uses to mark down orders. Standing by the door, he watches the stout man get into his car just down the street and he quickly writes both the license plate and a brief description of the vehicle.

Dean’s laughter rings out through the restaurant and Castiel turns to find him at the counter with the eyes of all their patrons on him. “He didn’t like it so much that he ate three slices! What a cheapskate!”

A few nervous giggles echo through the room from the other patrons, and the atmosphere returns to normal rather quickly. Castiel still feels a bitter anger in his chest and he heads for the kitchen, knowing Dean will meet him there soon. Their other waitress, Charlie, is wrapping up the ingredients for tomorrow.

“Could you take care of the dining room, please?” He asks, gesturing at the door. “Dean and I have some things we need to discuss.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Charlie salutes and ducks out through the doors, dodging under Dean’s arm as he chooses then to enter too.

They never talk about their hobby in the kitchen. It’s too open and easy for eavesdroppers to hear what they shouldn’t. Instead, Castiel leads the way to their office and shuts the door tightly behind them. “He kept calling me  _ma’am_  because of my apron.” He frowns, holding out the notebook for Dean to inspect the information.

Dean tears the page out and tucks it into the pocket of his jeans. “He’s on your list, huh?”

Castiel nods and leans into an offered hug. “I’ll look him up tonight during dinner. If he’s bad enough, we’ll get him. Otherwise, you can just scare him a little or get Sam to get us our unpaid bill.”

Just like Dean, Castiel has the urge to kill bubbling up inside him. Neither knows where it comes from or why so few people seem to have it, but they’ve both accepted this part of themselves. Castiel chooses to use it for good. But before they met, Dean was far less discriminatory. Over their years together, Castiel has helped to curb that in him and has shown him how to do it in a much  _cleaner_  fashion – both in killing and in choosing their targets.

*

At dinner that night, Castiel excuses himself from the table. He doubts his brother-in-law knows that he detours to the office on his way to the bathroom, snagging his laptop in the process. Dean knows all of Sam’s passwords and it has proven to be very useful when looking up their potential targets.

When he had first learned that Dean’s brother was a police officer, Castiel had thought it would make things more difficult for the both of them. It has only ever been useful. Sam’s laptop is connected to the police servers and it makes it all the easier to look up their targets. Sam doesn’t even know that it’s because of him they’ve never been caught and why it’s so easy to avoid places with a heavy police presence. It’s just one of the many reasons Castiel loves his brother-in-law.

Tonight, with the laptop balanced on his knees in the bathroom, Castiel looks up the dine-and-dasher from this afternoon. And the facts were these…

Marv Ex is forty-seven years, eleven weeks, six days, fifty-five minutes and twelve seconds old, and he is not a nice man. He has been reported for dine-and-dashing at various restaurants all over the city and has been accused several times of petty theft. A renowned cheapskate, narcissist, and all around unpleasant man. He even has a data crimes file and upon further investigation, Castiel finds that Marv Ex also goes by the online alias  _Metatron_ , a hacker with a penchant for stirring up trouble in forums all across the internet.

That settles the decision for Castiel rather quickly. He makes sure to return the laptop to Sam’s office in precisely the same location before he takes his place at the dinner table again. Castiel pats Dean’s knee and listens to the conversation with half an ear, his mind already whirring with plans for how to deal with Mr. Metatron.

As they drive home afterwards, Dean gives Castiel a curious, almost excited, look. “So, is it a go? Are we gonna get this guy?”

“Yes, but remember, we’re only doing this because he deserves it.” That is his code and they must stick to it.

Dean frowns and squeezes the steering wheel. “I  _know_ that, Cas. You don’t have to keep on reminding me.”

“Then stop looking like you enjoy it so much.” Castiel frowns at the side of Dean’s head. He knows it’s a lot to ask, especially of Dean, but he feels that if he doesn’t keep reminding him then it’s entirely possible that Dean will revert back to his old ways.

“But I  _do_ enjoy it.” Dean huffs, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “You know I do. And I know  _you_ like it too.”

Castiel crosses his arms and his frown gets deeper. “For different reasons, apparently.”

“Don’t pull that ‘ _apparently_ ’ bullshit with me. You knew what I wasfrom the day we met.” He actually bangs his hand on the wheel this time before they come to a sudden stop at a red light. “And you love me for it.”

“I wonder why, sometimes.” Castiel looks away but he still leans into Dean’s side when he’s tugged across the seat under his arm. Dean presses a kiss to his cheek and Castiel melts into him. “Yes, of course I do. Idiot.”

*

Seven days, twelve hours, forty-two minutes and eight seconds later, Castiel watches Dean reach up to unscrew the bulb over Marv’s front door. He’s holding a pizza box and Castiel is standing just out of sight. Dean has been keeping tabs on their target all week and they’re very pleased to have found that he’s upset several other people during that time. It means that when his past is looked into after he’s been reported missing (if anyone bothers to make that report), it will be less likely that they’ll be looked into as potential suspects.

It’s late enough into the evening that Castiel is certain none of Marv’s neighbours will notice them. It takes the pizza in Dean’s arms to convince Marv to open the door. The moment it’s open, Castiel steps into view with a syringe full of a paralytic and he wastes no time in sinking it into the first part of Marv that he can reach. Together, they carry him and the pizza back to the trunk of their car, using his keys to lock the door.

Almost everything they’ve done in their life together has been to benefit this second life of theirs. The home they chose is specifically on the bank of a river with their own private dock and a deep-sea fishing boat tied to it. That’s where they take Marv now, to the plastic covered room under the deck.

Together they strip Marv down and lay him out on a table. As Castiel bundles all the clothing in a garbage bag, Dean uses an entire roll of plastic wrap to tie their latest victim to the table. Before they leave, they cover his mouth with duct tape and retire inside to eat their pizza and go to bed. Their plan will work better in the early morning, before the sun even rises.

That way, it’s not so weird for any early risers to see Dean and Castiel leave the house with their fishing equipment and head up river to the ocean. They have a specific spot where they drop the bodies in weighted garbage bags. But first, they need to drop anchor and head downstairs to put on plastic aprons and the same welder-shaped masks that coroners wear.

Metatron is awake when they enter the room and Dean immediately breaks into a wide smile, nudging Castiel in the side before he leans over the table. “Good morning, sunshine. Do you remember us?”

His eyes go from confused to horrified when Castiel leans over him too. “You are a bad man, Marv Ex. It’s against the law to steal.”

Dean picks up one of the knives laid out on the table and taps the flat of the blade against Marv’s cheek. “You liked my pies but didn’t want to pay for them? You should’ve made a better life choices. Bet you didn’t know that the fee for that would be this steep, huh?”

Castiel frowns and catches Dean’s wrist as he moves to plunge the knife into his chest. “It’s my turn, Dean!”

“What?” Dean looks up at him, a line pinched between his eyebrows. “No way, Cas. You pick ‘em, I kill ‘em. That’s how we do it.”

“You picked the last one  _and_ killed him.” He digs his thumbs into Dean’s fingers, trying to pry them open. “It’s my turn.”

Red starts creeping into Dean’s face. “C’mon, Cas, I’ve been waiting _weeks_!”

“Give me the knife, Dean.” Castiel says firmly.

He wonders if someone would think him crazy for not being scared of Dean right now. There is every possibility that if he pushes Dean’s buttons too much, he could be the next one on the table. And yet, Castiel knows that Dean would never hurt him. He knowsthat Dean loves him too much for that to ever happen. And this isn’t the first time over the years that they’ve had this fight before. It always works out in the end. Castiel just needs to remind Dean that he can’t be so selfish. He can be rather childish sometimes. Now happens to be one of those times and Dean refuses to hand over the knife.

Castiel glares at him from across the table, feeling slightly vindictive with what he chooses to say next. “You  _do_ know what the behavioural analysts say about stabbers, don’t you?”

Dean’s frown only gets deeper. “What?”

“They’re impotent and stabbing is their substitute for sexual gratification.”

For a solid sixty seconds, Dean stares at him before he slaps the knife down into Castiel’s hand. “Oh  _fuck you_ , Cas. You, of all people, know I’m not fucking  _impotent_.”

It is, perhaps, not the wisest of ideas for him to be smug right now, but Castiel can’t help it. He smiles and wastes no time in satisfying his own dark urges, driving the knife deep into Marv’s gut. A rush of exhilaration spreads through him like a pleasant shiver and Castiel sighs softly as he pulls the knife out. That wasn’t a killing blow, but it must certainly be painful. He feels satisfied with it, and he knows something else that will satisfy him more – seeing Dean happy.

“Here.” Castiel holds the knife out. “You can finish him.”

Dean lifts both their masks and leans over the table to kiss Castiel soundly before he sets to work. Castiel is more than happy to stand back and watch as Dean takes his time with stabbing Marv in various places perfectly picked to leave him alive long enough for the killing blow. He shivers as the last breath wheezes out through Marv’s nose and they share a pleased smile as Dean pulls his gloves off.

“That felt good. I think I’ll go do some fishing now. How about that for supper?”

“Don’t even think about it, Dean Winchester.” Castiel steps in front of the door, his happy feelings starting to slip away. “I am  _not_ cleaning up this mess alone. I may let it slide at home, but not here. You get the hack saw and I’ll get the garbage bags.”

This time, Dean’s glare only lasts a moment before he sighs. “Fine.”

“That’s my serial killer.” He stops Dean with a hand on his shoulder and leans in to kiss him on the cheek.

Dean’s smile is soft and he pulls Castiel to him in a tight hug. “Love you too, Cas.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters:** Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester
> 
>  **Tags:** fantasy!AU, creature!Cas, creature!Dean

Dean should have known better than to upset a gypsy. They have more myths and legends surrounding them than most folk do and Dean _should_  have been more careful. But how was he supposed to know that the gypsy would shout gibberish at him after a particularly prosperous game of chance that had been slightly rigged in Dean’s favour? And is it _really_  his fault that the gibberish was, apparently, some sort of spell that would change him into a freak?

To be completely honest, Dean is fairly certain his current situation can be blamed on his brother. After this curse, Sam never should have left him. It’s all well and good that he went to go find a  _counter_  curse, but should he really have trusted Dean not to get in trouble? A cloak can cover his legs, but cobblestone streets give away the hooves. And not even a hood can hide the curling horns arching out from the sides of his head.

It wasn’t very long after Sam left that Dean got hungry. Grass isn’t nearly as appetizing as goats make it out to be and Dean wanted something with  _substance_. He wanted  _meat_. Sam should have known that he wouldn’t stay hidden in their camp in the forest for long. And of course he should have known Dean would go into town to try and either buy or steal something. It’s no surprise that he got caught, really.

What  _was_ a surprise, for Dean at least, was that they didn’t kill him for being a monster. These small towns are always ranting and raving about one creature or another. He had kind of expected to be chased out with torches and pitchforks. Instead, Dean had found himself sold to a bigger city and placed in a  _circus_ of all things. Not just any circus, either. The enclosure they placed him in, with walls higher than he could jump and too smooth to even think of climbing, had  _at least_  a half dozen other men all cursed like him; half-man, half-goat.

“Actually, we prefer to be called  _Satyrs_.” One of them had told him the day he arrived.

At least that’s better than  _freak_ , as their new owners and every high class gawker seems to enjoy calling them. It got under Dean’s skin at first, but after a few weeks now, he can mostly ignore it. The jeers and insults are only fuel for his desire to escape. If he can get away from this humiliation, maybe he can find Sam and a cure and get back to his normal self.

The only saving grace that Dean has found in this Hell is  _Castiel_.

*

Dean doesn’t get it. Everyone else seems plenty happy with staying here and none of them have tried escaping. He taps his hoof against the rock he’s draped himself over, chin propped in his hands as he surveys the enclosure.

“Why, Cas?” He drops a hand to knock his knuckles lightly against the top of Cas’s head between his thin, straight horns. “Don’t you want your freedom?”

“I forget what freedom is like.” Cas tilts his head back to look at him upside down. “But why wouldn’t you want to stay? There’s shelter, and food, and as long as you can tolerate the ridicule from the patrons, life is fairly nice.”

That’s what Cas says, but Dean knows better. He knows Cas hates it just as much as he does, but for different reasons. Even in a cage filled with others like him, Cas is still lonely. Dean doesn’t know why, exactly, but the others barely give him the time of day. They get along well, despite that Cas is a little weird about some things that Dean considers common knowledge.

To start, Cas has no problem eating the foliage decorating their enclosure where everyone else wouldn’t even think of it. Sometimes he doesn’t even touch the stew and bread that their newfound  _owners_  give them. It took Dean less than a day to see that the others take advantage of this - often taking Cas’s share before even asking if he wants it.

Often times, Cas doesn’t even know what Dean is talking about when he refers to important people, places, or events. It’s like the world outside their cage is completely foreign to him and it makes Dean wonder just how long Cas has been here.

None of that bothers him, though. He kind of enjoys talking to Cas about everything he doesn’t know. It gives him something else to focus on other than how unhappy he is with his current situation. And it gives his brain a rest from constantly trying to come up with all the possible ways he could escape.

As much as Dean goes to Cas for a break, Cas seems to be pretty attached to staying by Dean’s side too. Granted, Dean would be the same if he’d been as alone as Cas was before he got here. At least Cas knows to give him space when Dean starts getting irritated about their situation - either when a plan to escape falls through, or when no one else will help him and Cas’s assistance just isn’t enough.

Whenever that happens, Dean can always find Cas sitting in his corner with his furry knees drawn to his chest and his droopy ears drooping more than usual. Dean always feels a pang of regret behind his ribs when he sees Cas looking like that. He’s an attractive young man and Dean has thought, on occasion during his time here, that if either of them were fully human, he would act on that with his usual enthusiasm. What he wouldn’t give to be not  _half-goat_.

At least all his parts weren’t changed and those work properly. Really, it’s only his horns, fluffy tail, and legs that are goat-ish. Everything else is essentially normal, but Dean’s not sure that he can stop caring about the  _goat parts_. He wishes he could, at this point. That would help alleviate part of the boredom that comes with being trapped here.

But only if Cas wants to. Presently, Dean is caught between being certain that Cas would be amenable to it and being very confused about whether or not Cas can even function sexually. His flared tail had wagged quite a bit when Dean had mentioned wanting to bring Cas with him when he finally manages to escape and at night Cas has no problems with getting  _extremely_ close on the nights when a chill wind blows through the bars.

When they have their cure, Dean will have to ask. Dean likes Cas and enjoys spending time with him here. He wants Cas to be safe and free and he’d very much like that Cas be all of that  _with him_. Sam wouldn’t mind travelling with another person. He would probably welcome Cas with open arms. It would mean more sleep and less time spent on watch while camping. It would mean having another contributor to their funds and another pair of hands that could craft or steal - whichever Cas is better at doing.

It takes a long time for Dean to realize what his plans really mean.

*

“When we get out of here, Cas, I’m going to show you all over the place.” Dean turns his head to rub one of his horns against Cas’s thigh where his head is pillowed. “If Sam hasn’t found a cure for us by the time we get out of here, then we’ll be travelling a lot anyways in search of one.”

Cas hums, but he doesn’t answer further. He doesn’t even move; his arms still tucked under his head and his eyes on the sky. This isn’t the first that Dean has noticed that Cas is always quiet when he brings up the cure. Most times, he can’t even meet Dean’s eyes. Today is the day that his curiosity can’t be tempered anymore.

“What is it, Cas?” He sits up, digging his hooves into the ground to slide back and look down over him. “What’s wrong?”

Something shutters behind Cas’s eyes. In a split second, something Dean isn’t supposed to see is hidden from him. He frowns and tugs at the folds of cloth that hang around Cas’s waist. “Tell me, Cas. Don’t you want to be cured?”

Slowly, Cas sits up. He folds his legs awkwardly and stares down at his hands in his lap. Again he won’t look at him and it’s sending a nervous flutter through Dean’s chest. “A curse won’t work on me, Dean.”

“How do you know for sure if you don’t try?”

Cas looks up at him from under his bangs. One ear twitches before they both droop and his shoulder slump a little more. “I’m not cursed. I never was.” He sighs and gestures at himself from head to hoof. “I was born like this. I’m a Satyr.”

Oh.

Dean must stare at him for a few minutes too long, because Cas sighs and gets up. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to associate with me anymore. The others were the same when they got here.” He glances toward the other side of the enclosure where the others are stretched out in the sun too. “They don’t tell anyone because they’re scared I have magic and I’ll use it against them. They’ll use the name of my race, but they won’t be my friends.”

There’s pain in his voice and Dean despises it. He grabs Cas’s wrist and pulls him back to the grass, almost making him tumble straight into his lap. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy. I’m taking you with me when I escape, remember? I’d rather have you, cured or not.”

Cas’s smile lights up brighter than Dean has ever seen it. He’s ears lift and his tail twitches excitedly behind him. Dean lifts Cas’s hand to his lips and presses a quick kiss to his knuckles. If that doesn’t get his intentions across, he might need to educate Cas more in the ways of the world. At least now he has an explanation for  _why_  Cas’s knowledge was severely lacking in other areas.

Colour fills Cas’s cheeks and he leans into Dean’s side, their horns knocking together. They sit like that for a while and Dean’s mind continues to think. Everyone here doesn’t  _like_  being a Satyr, but they don’t mind me hoarded together and mocked. It’s an easy life, certainly, but it’s not a  _human_  life. For Cas, this is normal. This is his life, and he’s accepted it.

How hard would it be for Dean to accept this too?

*

A rock bounces off the boulder Dean is laying next to. Cas is somewhere doing his Satyr-y things and Dean’s been lost in thought for a while now, trying to decide how many shoulders he would have to stand on to get over the wall. When another rock nearly hits him, he sits up to and glares around, determined to find the culprit. Sometimes the children like to throw stones at the freaks and Dean has never been afraid of giving them a piece of his mind about it.

Today is different. Today it isn’t children.

“Sam!” Dean scrambles to his hooves and all but skips across the enclosure to the bars that separate him from freedom and the rest of humanity. “What took you so long?”

“Don’t even  _start_ , Dean.” He hisses, glancing up and down the pathway to make sure no one is coming. “Do you know how hard it was to find you? I left you alone for  _two days_  and you got  _caught_? What is  _wrong_ with you?”

If he tries to claim that he was hungry, Sam might actually leave him here. Dean just shrugs and reaches through the bars to grip his brother’s arm in the only kind of hug he can give right now. “It’s good to see you. Now  _get me out of here_.”

“Tonight.” Sam squeezes his wrist and takes a step back, letting it drop as he turns away. “The north wall. Be ready.”

Dean has been ready for weeks. Cas is a confused about why Dean wants to sleep away from their usual place, but he doesn’t outright question it. The answer comes with a grappling hook and a rope that comes sailing over the wall in the dead of the night. Dean lets Cas go first, that way, Sam will have no choice but to wait until he’s out too.

The moment his hooves are on free ground, Dean crushes Sam in a tight hug. “I’ll make introductions later. Just trust me when I say that Cas is a good guy.”

Sam shakes Cas’s hand without question and they don’t dare risk dallying any longer. No one wastes time talking until they’re a safe distance from the circus where Sam has a covered wagon waiting for them. He takes the reins while Dean gets Cas tucked in the back under a blanket. With another one draped over his head, Dean kneels just behind Sam and watches while they start down the road.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I haven’t found a cure yet.”

Dean glances over his shoulder to where Cas is watching him with eyes that catch the light of the lantern hanging from the peg above Sam’s head. “It’s alright, Sam. There’s no need to rush.”

Cas ducks his head but crawls forward across the wagon until he can tuck himself against Dean’s side. He seeks out Dean’s hand under the blankets covering them both and squeezes it tightly. This is something he might have to talk to Sam about later, but for now, Dean is happy. He has Cas, he has Sam, and he has his freedom.

*

“I thought you were sleeping.” Dean sits up in his bed at the sound of Cas’s hooves on the wood floor of the cabin Sam had found for them.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Cas shrugs and sits on the edge of his bed, staring across the small room at the wall. “Did I disturb you?”

He twists around to sit next to Cas, their shoulders bumping. “No. I was busy thinking.”

“About what?”

Dean laughs and leans his weight into Cas’s side. “If I never get cured, I’m  _really_  going to miss having sex.”

Cas’s snort of surprise nearly dislodges Dean from leaning on him. “You are aware that Satyrs are some of the most sexually active creatures known to man, right?”

“What?” He looks to Cas, eyes wide. “When did you learn that?”

“I was caught at a young age.” A blush burns in his cheeks and Cas ducks his head slightly. “I haven’t actually  _had_ experience, but I saw enough as a child to know. And the circus owners were kinder to me when I was young. They read me stories about my kind.”

This is news to Dean.  _Good_  news. It’s merely the logistics that confuse him now. “But  _how_?”

Cas shifts and fidgets with the edge of the wrap around his waist. “I can understand if you’re not interested because I’m technically not human, but if you ever wanted to -” He looks at Dean shyly. “I would like to learn that with you.”

Kissing his knuckles most definitely got across to Cas exactly what Dean had hoped it would. He smiles at him, bright in the moonlight through the window, and brings a hand to Cas’s cheek. “Yeah, Cas, I’d like that too.”

Their first kiss is slow and gentle, matched by their hands as they learn the way they fit together. Cas falls back into the sheets covering the straw mattress easily, though his fingers fumble with removing his wrap. Dean’s horns catch on his shirt as he tugs it over his head. This may be the first time he lays with a Satyr, but it isn’t his first with a man and Dean is pleased to see that Cas isn’t much different under the folds of his wrap.

Cas gets erect just as easily as Dean does. His hips twitch and he gasps when Dean touches him, rubbing calloused fingers and palms gently over the sensitive skin of his erection. Dean fits himself against Cas’s thigh, stroking him through every sweet kiss and soft sigh. It’s a sight when Cas digs his hooves into the bed and arches his back, a quiet moan on his lips when he finally comes in Dean’s hand.

Dean kisses him into the pillow as Cas returns the touch with much less skill but no less the fervour until it’s Dean’s turn to tremble above him, his own release joining the mess on Cas’s stomach. They wipe it away with Cas’s wrap and Dean folds him in the pelt he uses as a blanket, holding him tight to his chest. Cas is content to fall asleep like that, but Dean takes a little longer; his mind still working.

Even if he never gets cured, Dean feels confident that he could live like this. As long as he has Sam, his freedom, and Cas, he could live as a Satyr for the rest of his days. He’ll tell Cas that in the morning. It’s something he’s sure will make him happy. Not for the first time since he gained his freedom, Dean falls asleep content.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters:** Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Charlie Bradbury, Victor Henrikson
> 
>  **Tags:** modern!AU, creature!Dean (temporary)

“I can’t believe you’re fucking  _sleeping_  right now.” Dean’s voice echoes when he talks. It’s distorted and vaguely layered. Castiel can never figure out how to describe it. Just like he can’t truly describe the sensation of Dean’s touch when it passes through him - like a localized chill concentrated to the point of Dean’s finger when it touches his cheek. “Get  _up_ , Cas. You need to go find Sam!”

Castiel groans and resists pulling his pillow over his head. It would do nothing to stop Dean’s fingers from ghosting over his skin. He sighs and rolls over instead, opening his eyes and squinting in the dark of his room at the translucent boy hovering next to his bed. Parts of him keep turning blurring into wispy lines like smoke before taking a human shape again.  It’s a sight he’s had a week to get used to seeing, but it still makes his heart stutter in his chest.

“I’m not like you, Dean. I  _need_ to sleep.” He muffles a yawn under his hand and pulls the blanket higher over his shoulder. “There are better, older, and more experience detectives than me that you could be bothering right now.”

Dean waves his hand and rolls his eyes, hovering back away from the bed for a few feet. “I  _tried_  that already. You’re the only one who can see or hear me.” He grins and floats forward again, his knees passing through the edge of the bed. “Besides, you’re the cutest.”

“Flattery will not get me out of this bed sooner than my alarm.” Castiel yawns and rubs his knuckles into his eyes. “And  _everyone_  is looking for your brother. If you want me to work at the best of my ability when I _am_  awake, then you need to let me sleep now.”

“ _Fine_.” He huffs and crosses his arms, floating back toward the end of the bed. “Go to sleep.”

Thankfully, Castiel rolls over again and buries his face in his pillow. It does nothing to keep the song that Dean starts to hum a few minutes later. Dean has a lovely voice, despite the ghostly reverberance to it, and Castiel listens to it for a while, trying to place it. This isn’t the first time that he’s heard it over this past week.

“What is that song?” He doesn’t bother rolling over again.

“Hey Jude.” Dean’s voice gets closer. “My mom used to sing it to put me to sleep as a kid. She’s the one who made sure we always carried panic buttons, y’know?” He snorts. “Lot of good that did us.”

Castiel frowns and his hand curls into a fist under his pillow. “Your father didn’t give you bodyguards? To my understanding, that’s what influential men like him do for their children. Kidnapping is often a risk for them, isn’t it?”

The laugh Dean gives is bitter and cold. “Dad didn’t care enough for that. It would’ve cost him money. Too bad, though. It might have saved my life if he had.” He sighs and Castiel feels the tingle of his touch against the top of his head. “Nevermind about that, Cas. Get some sleep so you can be ship shape for finding Sam in the morning.”

There’s always a different feeling to a room when Dean is in it - different from the feeling of another presence. It disappears now and Castiel glances over to his shoulder to confirm that Dean has left. He settles back into the bed and stares at the wall, his mind to alive with thought for him to sleep just yet.

Dean is under the impression that he’s dead and Castiel hasn’t told him yet that the day they met was the day it had been officially announced that he was in a coma. Actually, shortly before Castiel had met Dean, he’d been assigned to waiting at the hospital for Dean to wake up so he could question him for anything helpful to the search to find Sam. While he was waiting, the diagnosis had been made and he’d returned to the station to help elsewhere.

It had been extremely surprising to see the same boy standing in the middle of the bull pen, shouting for someone to listen to him and find his brother. Castiel had hardly been able to believe his eyes, but it was undoubtedly the same boy from the photo he’d memorized on the drive to the hospital. He was the only one able to see the way Dean’s face fell when the chief had announced that they weren’t going to be getting any information out of the older Winchester boy - likely taking that to mean that he was dead.

Dean is hellbent on finding his brother and has been very overbearing regarding that since he realized that Castiel was the only one in the station who kept looking at him. But if Castiel told Dean that he was really alive, he might return to his body immediately. He hadn’t expected to find Dean to be such good company. Dean has an interesting array of knowledge, he’s funny, and he’s very loyal to his brother. The more Castiel learns about him during their time together, the more he likes having Dean around.

This is something that he doesn’t quite want to give up just yet. Especially when there is every possibility that Dean will forget him. Coma patients don’t usually remember the immediate events before their accident. To his knowledge, they most definitely don’t remember what happens to them  _while_ they’re in a coma.

Contrary to what Dean thinks, it was Sam’s panic button that saved his life. The police were on scene within minutes of him receiving the blow to the back of his head. There are a few theories about what happened after that. Some of the investigators believe that the kidnappers didn’t have the time to carry a fully grown, unconscious, nineteen year old to their get-away car. Others think that Sam went willingly to either keep them from hurting him (or Dean) any more, or possibly so they would leave Dean behind.

That’s the one that Castiel believes. Sam’s panic button had been left on Dean, making it easier for him to find. It’s entirely possible that Sam either dropped it on purpose or he let the kidnappers know that it was activated and they needed to leave immediately if they didn’t want to be caught. Castiel hopes they find Sam soon. He would like to get the truth from him.

Truthfully, Castiel knows that he’s being selfish by keeping this information from Dean. He hates himself for it and it’s a smouldering, angry pit inside of him that he does his best to ignore. It’s easier if he rationalizes it away. Dean is  _very_ useful as a ghost, if Castiel can disregard the annoying things he uses his ghostly powers for. (He’s lost track of the number of times Dean has nearly given him a heart attack by coming through a wall.)

As a ghost, Dean does more for Sam now than he would if he was wrapped up in a hospital bed. Already he’s scouted ahead multiple times whenever Castiel has gone to perform interviews or they’re following a lead to a possible holding location. He’s very good at pointing out possible dangers and Castiel has never felt safer on the job. And Dean is very helpful at eavesdropping on other rooms or when people are whispering too quiet for Castiel to hear.

But even with Dean’s help, the investigation is all but completely stuck since they have yet to receive a ransom demand. The day following the kidnapping there had been an unmarked envelope delivered to John Winchester with a photo of Sam holding a newspaper edition from the same day as proof that he was still alive. They’ve received one every day, but there has been no letter or call stating what the kidnappers’ goal is.

There has been no request for money and it’s been almost more than a week and that’s highly irregular. In fact, Castiel thinks that’s  _too_ weird. This might be about more than just money. He resolves to get started with looking into John’s business dealings in the morning. Maybe Dean can help him out with that too.

*

“Yeah, Dad’s pissed off  _hundreds_  of people who’d be out to make him suffer like this.” Dean explains as he leans over Castiel’s shoulder, practically phasing through it. “Every time he does a merger or buys out another company, there’s always someone pissed off - not counting everyone who loses their jobs because of it.”

“I can tell.” Castiel murmurs under his breath, eyes fixed on the screen and the populating list of companies that John has acquired over the years. There are other people in the office and he can’t let them see him talking to thin air.

Dean waves his hand in front of Castiel’s face to get his attention. “You might want to focus on the guys that Dad is duking it out with right now. He doesn’t talk to us about his work, but I’m pretty sure that he’s in the middle of a bidding war or something with another company.”

“Azazel Keltainen?” That’s the name at the top of the list.

“Yeah, that guy!”

Castiel glances over his shoulder toward John’s office where he’s currently pacing around the room, nearly shouting into his phone. He’s been granted full access to their systems, but Castiel isn’t  _that_  great with technology. It’s only the basic things that he can find. Their technical division will need to look deeper. At least the documents concerning Mr. Keltainen are easily accessible and Castiel draws those up for a quick glance through - though most of that goes completely over his head.

What Castiel  _does_ understand from it is that things are not going well for Mr. Keltainen’s company. The Winchesters are days away from sealing the deal and frankly, this would be the perfect way to try and distract John from his business. This is something that John should have told them the day that Sam went missing when they sat him down and asked who he thinks could be behind it. The fact that he didn’t point fingers is both intriguing and confusing.

“We’re going to give Mr. Keltainen a visit.” Castiel announces, standing and pulling his phone from his pocket.

He says it for Dean’s benefit, but he wants to see if John reacts to it at all. While calling in to the station to let them know where he’s going, Castiel turns around to wave goodbye. John is stopped in view of the door and he’s watching him, but his expression is as inscrutable as ever. From what Castiel heard, John Winchester had refused to go to the station during the initial report. He’d been too  _busy_  and had the interview conducted here.

That’s yet another thing that Castiel has kept from Dean.

*

The warrant is easy enough to obtain for Mr. Keltainen’s company files. Dean doesn’t float off very far while Castiel stays lon enough to open the system for the technical division to access it remotely. He doesn’t need to be here for the rest of it, having only driven over with a few others who will be doing interviews. His job is to return to the station and wait for a data report.

“I hate this.” Dean grumbles from the seat next to him in the car. He keeps slipping through the back of the chair and having to float forward again. “We should be out there looking for Sam. What good is  _waiting around_  gonna do? Sam’s been gone for too long, Cas. I watch shows and shit. I know what happens to kidnap victims.”

Castiel sighs and chances a glance at him. “He’ll be fine, Dean. You’ve seen the photos. Sam hasn’t been touched.”

“I know.” He huffs, wisps of his hair drifting away before curling back to his head. “How soon will they get through Azazel’s files?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask when we arrive.”

The answer is waiting for him the moment he walks through the door. One of the technical analysts, a bright young woman with red hair (Castiel is almost positive that her first name is  _Charlie_ ), is waiting for him at the door with a sheaf of papers.

She holds them out to him, face serious. “You’re going to want to see this. We found a  _bunch_ of incriminating things in Azazel’s systems, and it was all  _planted_.”

The answer to the question Castiel doesn’t ask is on the second page. He hides it before Dean can see pats Charlie on the shoulder. “Thank you, Ms. Bradbury. Have you told the chief?”

“They’re already bringing him in and the chief has an assignment for you.”

“Good. Please, excuse me.” Before she can say anything more, Castiel finds an empty meeting room and shuts himself inside. The moment he has the blinds drawn, he turns to Dean. This needs to be dealt with now and the chief can wait.

He’s cut off before he even opens his mouth. “It was Dad, wasn’t it? He’s trying to frame Azazel’s company.”

Castiel sinks into one of the chairs and throws the papers down on the table. “All the files trace back to the systems at Winchester headquarters. They covered their tracks, but Ms. Bradbury is  _very_ good. We can’t say for certain that it was your father, but he’s being brought in for questioning right now.” He pauses and looks up at Dean. “You have to stay out of that room.”

“ _No_.” Dean hisses, his face growing dark as the edges of him blur. The papers on the table flutter in a breeze that isn’t coming from any vent. “I want to hear it, Cas. I want to hear it straight from his mouth about how he had me  _killed_ and Sam  _kidnapped_  just so he could win some stupid fucking  _acquisition_.”

His hand twitches, lifting from the table to reach for Dean before it falls to his lap. There’s no point. He can’t offer any kind of physical comfort right now. All Castiel can do is watch the shadows of tears form in Dean’s eyes. One the first one streaks down his cheek, pain twinges deep behind Castiel’s ribs and he stands up.

“Come with me, Dean.” He gives no further instruction, but Dean still sniffs and hovers after him as he goes to find the chief.

His assignment turns out to be a joint task with the technical division. For every email they recover from the servers and John’s personal computer, Castiel is to go through them. He sets himself up with a private room so he can talk with Dean, enlisting his help with understanding John’s schedule and the people he has contact with.

“You’re expecting too much from me, Cas.” Dean sighs, gesturing at the computer. “I’m lucky if I even saw Dad once a day, let alone more than once a week. I know fuck all about his life.”

“You’ll still be useful to me, Dean. Now shut up and start reading.”

It takes them well over an hour to find anything useful. At first glance, it’s merely a personal email to a close friend detailing the events of John’s week. What catches Castiel’s attention is a paragraph nearly lost in the middle of the entire email.

> _You remember that old Impala Dean had restored? He still drives it. In fact, he’s taking it to a concert tonight. I told him not to, but it’s his go to car when he takes Sam out. I don’t understand why he would risk leaving such a nice car unattended in the middle of downtown at night. The concert starts around 9pm and is supposed to end shortly after midnight. Were concerts always that late in our day? I don’t remember. I told him to park in the parkade on Sixth Avenue. They have good security there._

“That’s not true.” Dean points at the screen, his finger actually passing through it and making the pixels distort slightly until he withdraws his hand. “Dad never talked to me about the concert. And it was his assistant that told me about the parking garage.” His face screws up in a frown and he looks up at the ceiling while he thinks. “I remember thinking the garage was really weird too. I’m pretty sure there wasn’t any security and it was empty even though it was kinda close to the concert.”

Castiel frowns and calls for Charlie. As soon as she pokes her head in the door, he points at the email. “Find out how often Mr. Winchester has had contact with this address.”

She nods and disappears only to come back a few minutes later. “That’s the only time I can find record of him sending a message to it. Do you want me to track it?”

“Yes. I’m taking this up to interrogation.” Castiel highlights that specific section of the email and prints it.

The moment it’s presented to him, John Winchester asks for a lawyer. Dean remains silent the entire time he hovers at Castiel’s shoulder, watching through the two-way mirror. Castiel wishes there was something more that he could do for him, or anything that he could say, but nothing comes to mind. He can only stand and watch Dean’s form flicker with rage.

“Collins!”

Castiel turns away from the mirror to face the chief, nearly stumbling back when a slip of paper is shoved against his chest. “Take someone with you and check it out. Charlie got a name and an address. Surveillance only. Wait for backup and a warrant.”

“You’re not seriously going to wait, are you?” Dean whispers in his ear on the way to the car. “I can whip in and find Sam in a heart beat. If he’s in there, you can’t just  _wait_.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t answer verbally as Officer Henrikson falls into step next to him. Waiting is protocol. But if Dean can check out the layout and their opposition, he might be able to get away with only waiting for the warrant to come through. Of course, he can’t voice any of that to Dean to get him to understand and it leads to Castiel having to listen to Dean grumble and complain in the backseat of the car the entire way there.

No sooner have the pulled up does Dean phase through the side of the car and run (though his feet never touch the ground) to the one storey house with the number that matches to the slip of paper Castiel purposefully held so he could see it. Henrikson hands Castiel a pair of binoculars and they both check out the exterior of the house. The curtains are drawn on almost all the windows except for the living room where he can only see one man sprawled on a couch watching TV. Despite that, Castiel still waits with baited breath for Dean to return.

It’s still a surprise when Dean comes through one of the walls of the house. He waves and points wildly at the windows of one of the rooms with closed curtains. Sam must be in there. Knowing that now is an itch under Castiel’s skin. He can’t act without a warrant and back up.

After a moment, Dean comes back to the car and leans forward through the windshield. “There’s only one guy in the house, Cas! Radio in and ask of the warrant is in then get your ass in there and  _save Sammy_.”

Castiel uses his phone and sends a text to Charlie instead. It’s safer. There might be someone listening in on the police scanner. Charlie’s answer is almost instantaneous. The warrant was issued just a few minutes ago.

“I’m going to check it out. I’ve only seen one person inside.”

He ignores Henrikson’s protests and crosses the street with Dean at his side. They have the warrant and Castiel doesn’t hesitate to kick the door in, gun already drawn and aimed for the couch. The man isn’t even given the chance to get to his feet. By the time Castiel has him in handcuffs, Henrikson is there too.

“Watch him. I’ll clear the house.”

“They’re going to have your badge for this, detective.”

They can have it. Castiel would rather give Dean and Sam a bit of peace. As soon as he’s out of sight from Henrikson, he sprints down the hall with Dean in the lead. Sam is sitting on a bed with an old metal frame, his wrist handcuffed to the headboard. There’s a book in his lap and he looks up in confusion when Castiel comes through the door.

“You’re new.”

“You’re very calm for a kidnapped teenager.” Castiel crosses the room to the window and pulls open the curtains just enough that he can claim he saw Sam through them later. It might be enough to save his job. “I’m Detective Castiel Collins. We’ve been looking for you, Sam.”

Immediately Sam sags back against the headboard with relief. He takes a shuddering breath and whispers his thanks, tears already forming in his eyes. Dean makes a choked sound and swears loudly when his arms pass through Sam’s shoulders as he tries to hug him.

“The idiot. He’s been putting on a brave face.” Dean scrubs his hands across his own face. “Get him out of that damn thing, Cas. His wrist is all red and shit.”

Castiel is prepared for this. He has a lock picking set in his pocket and it doesn’t take him more than a few moments to get the handcuffs unlocked. Sam all but throws himself out of the bed and wraps Castiel in a hug, burying his face against his chest to hide his sniffles. There’s no need for Dean’s instructions here. Castiel hugs him in his place.

After a few deep, shuddering breaths, Sam takes a step back and looks up at Castiel with a grim set to his mouth. “I want to see Dean.”

It’s been in the news that Dean Winchester survived the assault and is currently in a coma. The kidnappers likely found out from that (or from John Winchester himself) and told Sam. The only person in the room right now who doesn’t know that is Dean.

He shakes his head and looks at Castiel with wide, pleading eyes. “Don’t let him see me, Cas. I’ve been dead for a week. He doesn’t need to see me like that.”

“Maybe afterward.” Castiel says instead, guiding Sam toward the door. It’s not a ‘yes’, and it isn’t a ‘no’. “We need to take you to the hospital and get you checked out first.”

By the time they get downstairs, backup has arrived. Sam accepts that he needs to be taken to the hospital, regardless of whether or not he looks physically hurt. The only issue is when he refuses to be taken there by anyone besides Castiel. This plays in Castiel’s favour. He didn’t want to stick around and be yelled at by his boss anyways.

Sam is very quiet on the drive to the hospital and he asks that Castiel wait outside the room when they arrive. He finds it a little surprising that Dean doesn’t immediately follow him through the door to make sure that he’s truly okay. Instead, Dean turns to Castiel, floating close enough to give him a tingling, chilled hug. Castiel blames the foreign feel of an otherworldly touch on why his heart flutters during it and he fights not to react in the middle of a busy hospital hallway.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean floats back again, a warm smile on his face. It lasts only a few moments before turning salacious. “I kinda wish I was alive right now. Then I could show you just how grateful I really am.”

It’s the same kind of teasing comment he’s made since he discovered the hardly used dirty magazines (a mixture of both gay and straight) under Castiel’s bed on his third night bothering him. And it still makes Castiel blush. He can feel it burning in his ears and he frowns at Dean. To anyone else, it would look like he’s frowning at the door. Dean’s laughter sounds odd compared to the clinical atmosphere before he ducks through the closed door to join Sam.

He’s hovering next to his brother when Castiel is finally admitted into the room to be given the final diagnosis that Sam is in perfect health. Sam excuses himself to the bathroom to get dressed again after the doctors leave. In that brief sliver of time, Dean turns to him and raises his hand. Castiel’s heart stutters painfully at the sight of it. Dean was already translucent, but now parts of him are fading to the point that not even Castiel can see them.

“This kinda sucks, huh?” He wiggles his fingers and Castiel has to squint to make them out. “Isn’t that how it goes with ghosts though? They move on after their unfinished business is taken care of? You found Sam and now I’m good and ready to go.”

A lump rises in Castiel’s throat and he swallows around it, panic starting to balloon behind his ribs. Dean isn’t supposed to  _fade_. His body is alive. He’s not dead! Castiel opens his mouth to answer, but the bathroom door clicks open and his jaw snaps shut out of habit.

Dean’s smile turns sad. “Make sure Dad gets what’s coming to him and take care of Sammy, okay? Tell him it was my last wishes or something if he makes a fuss and let him know that he can have my Impala.”

Right before his eyes, as Sam crouches to tie the laces on his shoes, Dean’s form disintegrates into the dust motes in the sunlight through the window. Castiel can feel the sting of tears behind his eyes and it’s getting hard to breathe. Dean just - but he  _can’t_  - he’s not  _dead_.

“Are you okay, sir?” Sam looks up at him, a confused frown on his face.

Castiel can’t answer him. The only reason he can think of that Dean would fade away is if his body did too. He needs to see for himself if that happened.

“Stay here. Someone will take you to Dean shortly.” The words come out in a rush before he runs from the room.

He knows where Dean was being kept and it’s halfway across the hospital. There’s sweat on his forehead when he skids to a stop outside the room and his heart is beating a hard staccato against his ribs. There are no doctors gathered around Dean’s bed like he had been expecting to see attempting to resuscitate him. All the machines grouped around Dean’s bed are showing that his vitals are holding steady and if it weren’t for the tubes and bandages, Dean would almost look like he’s sleeping.

The boy in the bed looks smaller and more fragile than the one Castiel has gotten to know over the last several days. Maybe it’s just an effect of seeing him in a hospital bed. The beep of the machines has a calming affect on him and Castiel drags a chair to the side of the bed. He resists the urge to hold Dean’s hand. It feels wrong to touch the solid body without knowing of Dean is really in there or not.

After a few minutes, Castiel looks out the window beside the bed. His thoughts drift over what happened to Dean and whether or not he returned to his body. If he did, will he remember him? Without realizing it, Castiel starts humming the song Dean would hum for him at night. He forgets the name, and some of the tune, but he’s fairly sure that he gets most of it.

When he looks back to the bed, all thought of humming stops at the hazy green eyes watching him from under the bandages. A little smile twists Dean’s lips and his voice rasps slightly when he speaks. “My mom used to sing that to me.”

Castiel reaches across the bed for the call button, careful not to actually touch Dean as he pushes it to summon the nurses. “I know. How are you feeling, Dean?”

“Like shit.” His smile falters and he glances around the room. “Are you an angel? Is this Heaven or a hospital?”

“You’re very much alive, Dean Winchester.” It’s difficult, but Castiel fights to ignore the sinking sensation in his stomach. “You were assaulted. Do you remember that?”

Dean shakes his head and winces. “No. Are you a cop? You’re not dressed like a doctor. Not even like Dr. Sexy and he breaks  _all_  the rules.”

That hurts more than Castiel thought it would. Even though he expected it, there was no way to prepare himself for Dean not remembering him. He chokes back the lump in his throat and forces himself to nod. “I’m one of the detectives who was looking for your brother.”

Immediately, Dean tries sitting up and Castiel puts a hand on his shoulder to push him back down. He’s almost surprised that the touch doesn’t pass right through him. “Sam is fine. We found him and he’s in perfect health. He’ll be here soon and I’ll let him explain to you what happened. How does that sound?”

“That sounds awesome.” Dean settles back into the bed with a sigh and a smile.

Castiel nods and steps away from the bed. “I’ll go let Sam know that you’re awake now.” He turns away sharply, not waiting for a response. It hurts having Dean look at him without recognition in his eyes.

“Thanks, Cas.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters:** Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Charlie Bradbury
> 
>  **Tags:** pirate!AU, NSFW, bottom!Cas

With his hand twisted in the rigging, Dean leans forward out over the waves lapping between the two ships. He swings his cutlass lightly at his side, watching with sharp eyes as his crew confidently crosses back to their galleon, each one weighed down with chests of treasure and silks, and bags of supplies. A few are even tossing barrels over the gap between them. Good. They’ll need those for the trip back to Devil’s Cove.

The railing creeks under his feet as he turns his attention to his brother, carefully crossing a plank laid between the ships and held in place by other members of the crew. He’s carrying the most precious of the cargo they’re stealing today and Dean can’t help but grin at the prisoner tossed over Sam’s shoulder; bound, gagged and struggling.

With his cutlass, Dean salutes the group of passengers chained to the main mast. The soldiers that were aboard to protect them are below decks; dead, unconscious, or in a similar predicament as their wealthy wards. To add insult to injury, Dean even bows before he calls out across the two ships.

“I’d think twice about coming after us if y’want your boy to live to see another day, m’lord!” Dean shouts, gesturing to the young man over Sam’s shoulder. He’s almost tempted to slap the young master’s backside with his sword to  _really_ piss off the merchant who had commissioned the vessel to take him across the seas – and right through Dean’s territory. But that is something he can save for later. “We’ll be taking the booty now, sir, if y’don’t mind. Don’t fret your little lovely wigs off, I’m sure someone will be by before too long! A day, maybe two. Y’should be just fine!”

“Captain?” Sam shifts the young master higher on his shoulder. “What should I do with him?”

Dean grins and hops down to the deck. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder to the double doors at the stern of the ship. “My quarters, Sammy. I’ll be dealing with him  _personally_. Speaking of…” He twirls his finger in a circle and Sam rolls his eyes, turning around until Dean can grab the young master by his hair and lift his head. A pleasant thrill runs down his spine at the challenging blue eyed glare that meets him. An angry growl is muffled under the gag and it only intensifies when he pats the young man on the cheek. “Don’t be thinking about even trying to invoke  _parlay_. Savvy?”

The young master jerks his face away and grinds his teeth on the rag pulled tight between them. Dean pats Sam on the shoulder to send him on his way. His brothers tosses a smirk over his shoulder at Dean as he picks his way across the deck to the cabin doors. It won’t take him long to get the young master comfortable and Dean wastes no time calling orders to the crew.

They cut the boarding ropes and haul in the planks, raising anchor and dropping sail to ready their escape. Dean runs back and forth from stern to bow and back again, helping where help is needed. When the sails fill with the wind, Dean bounds up the steps to the wheel and his navigator.

“Set course for home, Charlie. Our holds are full and the crew is itching to get their share.”

She flashes a grin at him, her red hair spilling out from under her hat. “Aye aye, captain!” The rudder creaks far below their feet as she turns the wheel, eyeing the compass hanging in a glass case at it’s unmoving center.

“Captain!” Sam calls to him from the deck and Dean leans over the railing to look down at him. “Your  _prisoner_ is ready and waiting for you.”

“Excellent.” He doesn’t even bother with the stairs, choosing to vault over the railing instead. It’s always more dramatic with his coat, though it does nothing to impress his brother. “Make sure the rest of our take is properly stored and see that the crew remembers the rules – the cut gets distributed at  _Devil’s Cove_  when we can add the rest to our horde.”

“Yes’sir.”

There is no one else that Dean would trust to command their crew in his stead. He watches Sam march off across the decks before he runs a hand over his chest to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt. Dean adjusts the belt hanging on his hips before he ducks inside. He hangs the key on a hook next to the door after turning the lock and laying a plank across the doors as an extra precaution – just in case. It’s been a long time – too long – since he’s had his fun. The last thing he wants now is to be interrupted.

That blue eyed glare follows him around the room as he sets out on a mission to light the lanterns swinging from the ceiling and close the curtains. No one needs to be given the chance to catch a peek at what will happen next. His captive is strung up in the center of the room, his back to a post and the rope binding his hands currently stretched over a hook well above his head. The young master’s shiny, heeled shoes barely touch the floor and he’s clearly straining in the position.

“You make for a beautiful sight, young master.” Dean murmurs, stopping only a few feet away to draw a dagger from his boot.

A growl answers him and the glare turns hateful as Dean steps close enough to touch. He puts the tip of the dagger to the young man’s stomach and draws it up slowly, carefully slicing through each tie of his waist coat. It falls open when he reaches the kerchief tied around his throat and tucked into his shirt. Dean was careful enough not to damage anything else.

“I hope Sammy wasn’t too rough with you,  _sir_.” He continues, speaking softly and gently tapping the flat of the blade against his captive’s cheek. “What’s the name your daddy was calling out again? Castiel, was it?”

Dean allows himself to take quite a bit of pleasure from the way the young master’s eyes go dark and his arms tremble as he strains at the rope keeping them above his head. As he slides his knee between the young master’s legs, Dean carefully slips the blade under the gag covering his cheek and stretching between his teeth. “I’m going to have _so_ much fun with you,  _Cas_.”

With one quick jerk, Dean splits the fabric of the gag. He never once takes his eyes from Cas’s mouth, watching the way he flexes his jaw and how his pink tongue darts out to lick his lips. Dean gives him no chance for angry words. His free hand fists in the back of Cas’s hair, yanking him forward into a hard and hungry kiss. It’s a mess of teeth and tongue. Dean can feel himself getting hard, encouraged by in the fervour of Cas’s kiss.

He’s not sure which of them sighs with relief when he rocks back on his heels, giving them both room to breathe, but Cas’s eyes are warmer now and there’s a smile on his swollen lips. “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come for me.”

“I promised to whisk you away for a life on the waves, Cas.” Dean loosens his grip in his hair, letting his hand slide around to rest against the side of Cas’s neck as his thumb strokes the hinge of his jaw. “Not even the sea could make me break my word to you.”

Cas's smile grows and he strains forward, meeting Dean for another kiss. This is far less desperate than before. Dean bends his knees and wraps his arms around Cas’s hips, lifting him up enough that he can unhook himself. Sam gave him just enough slack to make sure that he wouldn’t be  _too_  uncomfortable. They had a facade to keep up, after all.

As soon as he’s free, Cas’s arms fall around Dean’s shoulders, squeezing tight as he gasps into the kiss. He can almost feel Cas’s heart beat through their shirts, pounding hard against his ribs. It’s almost delirious to be able to feel it again after months – no, it’s been more than a  _year_ of waiting to see him again.

He bounces on the thin mattress when Dean drops him on the mass of sheets and pillows – the finest quality that can be stolen, and prepared just for this very special guest. Having Cas in his bed is something Dean has waited to see for ages and he takes a moment to savour it, devoting the image to memory. Carefully, he kneels next to Cas and lifts his hands to his lips. Dean kisses his palms, his knuckles, and the callousfree pad of each finger. It won’t be long until they’ll be just as rough as his own.

The rope gets discarded to the floor, along with Cas’s shoes. Dean carefully slides Cas’s stockings down his legs, tugging the garters out from under the legs of his breeches, before laying a trail of kisses from his ankle to his knee. Cas watches, eyes hooded and breath coming in quick bursts, as Dean fits the point of the dagger under the hem of his breeches and draws it up his thigh. The fabric gives easily against the blade and Dean drags his tongue and lips over every inch of newly exposed skin.

Cas makes a disgruntled noise as Dean tosses the shredded remains of his breeches to the floor, but they both know he’ll have no need for them anymore. He’ll have to get used to the rougher fabric and less elegant style of a pirate’s clothing, but he’s never been one to complain. And Dean has done  _plenty_ for him to whine about in all the time they’ve known each other.

His shirt is tucked up around his hips, covering what Dean is extremely interested in. The fabric is tented slightly with Cas’s own arousal and Dean bites his bottom lip, looking up at Cas and waiting for his permission. A slow nod is all he gets and Dean leans forward, edging the hem up slowly as he presses kiss after kiss across Cas’s hips. He follows the crease of his thigh to his balls and Cas’s hips twitch when he runs his tongue over them, laying a wet path along the length of his prick.

Above him, Cas groans loudly and unhindered. He sinks his hands into Dean’s hair and pulls him closer, his legs spreading wider to give him more room. Dean humours him for a while, abandoning the dagger on the bed to free both his hands for touching and rubbing and spreading them wide over Cas’s stomach to hold him in pace when he wraps his lips around the head and slides down, swallowing around him. Cas’s back arches and the sweetest moan echoes in the room.

It’s too much of a strain on Dean’s patience to stay there for long. He’s missed Cas too much to spend their first moments just like this. He gropes across the sheets for the dagger again and amuses himself with Cas’s gasp of surprise as he brings the cold blade to his belly. Dean sits back and slices Cas’s shirt open in one smooth slide as he crawls higher up the bed, forcing Cas’s legs up around his waist. He kneels between them, his knees framing Cas’s hips.

Now he can forget about the dagger. Dean stabs it into the wall, hoping the ship will forgive him for it. This is pretty important, after all. He forces his arms under Cas’s back and pulls him up until he’s nearly sitting in his lap, close enough to kiss again. His coat, waist coat, and the remains of his shirt fall away and  _finally_ Cas is completely bared to him. Dean slides his hands up the bare line of his back, revelling in the smooth skin.

Cas is not as gentle with undressing Dean and shoves his coat from his shoulders roughly. He fumbles between them to undo the belt and untuck the scarf it covers, both wraped around Dean’s waist. The whole bed shakes when Cas falls back to the pillows, pulling Dean down onto his hands above him as he tugs the shirt over Dean’s head. They don’t bother with getting his boots and pants off. His prick is freed almost as soon as the draw on his pants is undone and they’re shoved down his hips.

There’s a pot of oil hanging suspended from a nail in the wall next to the bed. Dean knew this day was coming and he made sure that he was well prepared. He knew – Sam knew –  _everyone_ knew that it was going to be nearly impossible to keep his hands off of Cas the moment he had him on his ship and Dean should be congratulated for his genius plan to have Sam be the one to bring him aboard instad.

“On your knees, Cas.” Dean whispers against his lips, reaching for the pot.

A shudder shakes through him and Cas’s breath starts coming even faster as he scrambles around. He’s quite the sight with his ass in his air, face buried in the pillows. His ears are red and Dean briefly wonders how long it will take for him to destroy the part of Cas that’s still embarrassed by this.

He spends as long as he can to prepare Cas, twisting and spreading his fingers. It’s been a very long time and, if Cas has been faithful to him, then this is  _extremely_ necessary. Long before Cas is actually ready, he starts rocking back against Dean’s fingers and muffling unrestrained noises into the pillows. Dean endeavours to draw new ones from him with every stroke and stretch of his fingers and hands, raining kisses across his lower back.

“Enough, Dean – I need -” Cas’s arms shake as he pushes himself up and reaches back to shove Dean’s hands away. “ _Please_.”

Dean gathers Cas to his chest, sliding his hands up and over his chest until he can turn Cas’s head to face him for a kiss. Cas breaks it the moment Dean lines up and pushes in slowly, his head falling back against Dean’s shoulder with a shuddering moan. He wraps his hand around Cas’s leaking prick, rubbing his thumb under the head and lightly pressing his nail into the slit, doing whatever will give Cas the most pleasure now to distract him from any pain.

Surprisingly, Cas presses back against him shortly – long before he could possibly be ready – andtakes as much as he can in one go. The tight heat is enough to punch the air out of Dean’s lungs and he rests his forehead against Cas’s shoulder, struggling to catch his own breath while he waits for Cas to adjust. It’s a glorious moment when Cas rolls his hips and whimpers the command to move. Dean presses him into the bed again, covering his back with his body as he snaps his hips forward.

If he remembers correctly, the young master had (surprisingly) liked it hard and fast – taking the slow and sweet before or after but not during. Though there was that one night, their last night together, when his hands were gentle and his kisses were sweet. Right now, Cas’s fingers twist in the sheets and his cry is lost to the pillows. He arches and rocks back against Dean, meeting every hard push.

In no time, sweat is gathered along Cas’s spine and Dean dips his head to lick it away. He can feel it gathering in his hair and cooling along his own back, but he can’t stop. Not now, maybe not ever. His body will give out long before he’ll ever stop wanting to make Cas writhe beneath him, squirming on the mattress and smashing his ability to articulate to smithereens.

When they’re finally both spent, Cas trembling finely under him and his hips still twitching, Dean gathers him to his chest. He kicks his boots off and fits himself to Cas’s back, spreading his hands over his stomach again. Cas tugs one of the sheets up to cover them before he finally relaxes, a soft, happy sigh tickling over the arm Dean has under his head.

After a while, Dean presses his nose into the hairs at the base of Cas’s skull and takes a deep breath of the scent he’s been craving for a year. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“For what?” Cas turns his head to look over his shoulder at him. “A life of high seas and adventures with you? I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time, Dean.” A smile plays across his lips and he wiggles back against him, settling comfortably and lacing their fingers together over his stomach. “I’ll manage.”

Dean can’t help a smile of his own and he presses a line of kisses down the nape of his neck. “Welcome to the Fallen Angel, Cas.”


End file.
